


Vagrant Stories

by VagrantWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood Magic, Body Dysphoria, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Dysfunctional Relationships, Each chapter has relevant content warnings posted, Forced Pregnancy, Intersex, Kidnapping, Knotting, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Multi, Physical Abuse, Sky Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:45:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: These poor, abandoned stories have been living in my documents for a while. This is their only chance to get out and see the world.Chapters 1-4: Dead End. The original ending toDead Zone. Theon's ragtag team tries to survive Euron's zombie apocalypse.Chapters 5-11: The Kraken Initiative. An alternate continuation ofThe Kraken Affair. Robb, Jon, and Asha band together to find Theon.Chapter 12: A Brother's Iron Price. Following the Greyjoy Rebellion, the Starks leave Pyke with two hostages. Or rather, one hostage and one husband.Chapters 13-14: Bloodlines. Nothing can break a pact made in blood.Chapter 15-16: The optional ending toSoul Marked.





	1. Dead End I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, long time no see. Consider this my apology for not posting anything in a while. I have no idea when I'll be able to get back to writing, but I was going through my old files and found a few of these cast-off projects. None of them are worth publishing alone (perhaps not worth publishing at all), but I felt sort of sorry for them. Just sitting there. All alone.
> 
> Genres are all over the place, and there will be Thramsay in later installments, so watch the warnings if that's not your thing.
> 
> Part 1: Dead End
> 
> These were the original "Now" chapters for Part 2 of [Dead Zone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8455423/chapters/19372120). I did re-purpose some of the passages, so certain scenes will feel familiar.

“They got Davos.”

“Shit.” Asha kicked at the wall. “Fuck, fuck!”

Theon closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall as Asha swore. He wished Jon were here. It was practically the only thing he thought about anymore. For the last year, ever since the city had been put under martial law.

Asha continued to kick at the wall until she finally stepped back and ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. “Who got him. Euron or…?”

“The walkers,” Grey Worm replied.

Martial law _and_ quarantine.

Asha took a deep breath. “What about Mel?”

“I am fine, darling,” the woman also known as Firestarter said as she stepped out of shadows behind Grey Worm. She didn’t look too grim for someone who had just lost a close ally. Davos hadn’t been a psychic, but he’d been their voice of reason, their rallying force…their team dad, as it were.

“Okay,” Asha said, “okay, we can’t panic. We can’t—Theon! Stop whimpering!”

Theon clamped his mouth shut and sank down in his chair. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it.

Asha was immediately in front of him, kneeling down to be on eye level with him. He couldn’t meet her eyes, even when she said in a gentle voice, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. But I need you to keep it together, okay? There are so few of us left.”

Theon nodded frantically. “Yes, I can. I will. I just…” He stared into his lap. “I’ll do better.”

“I know you will.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Grey Worm was debriefing the others from the latest mission. Their attention was focused on him, so she leaned in close and whispered, “I know this has been hard on you. I know the loss of Jon…did things to you. I know that our uncle…” She trailed off, seemed to reconsider her words. “But you’re not broken, Theon. You’ve been through so much, and you’re so strong.”

She was lying. She didn’t actually believe that. If she did believe it, she was wrong.

Theon nodded anyway.

“Don’t just nod at me,” she said, a little more sharply this time. “You need to believe you’re strong.” She reached out for him, to comfort him the way she had when they were children. She stopped herself in time. It had taken her a while to unlearn this trait. “You’re Ironborn, okay? Like me. The ocean has been battering us for thousands of years, and yet we’re still standing. _Born_ from _iron_.”

“Like Euron.”

She gnawed on her lip. “There are two of us, Theon. Two against one.”

“Two against two,” he corrected, and didn’t bring up the fact that there was only one psychic between their two.

“He won’t win.”

“I’m tired,” Theon announced and stood. “Can I go to my room now?”

Asha dropped her arms and sighed sadly. “Shit, you don’t have to ask me.” She stepped back to let him pass. “Sleep well,” she said, even though they both knew that was only an excuse. There were times when she wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily, but she probably wanted to hear what Grey Worm had to say and didn’t have time to babysit her useless little brother.

Theon made his way down the hall, feeling through the darkness with his fingertips against the wall. They had flashlights, but why waste batteries when he knew where he was going? He’d walked down this same hall for months.

Everyone slept in the same room, the dining hall of this abandoned school, a bunch of cots gathered close together in case something went down in the middle of the night. But he had his own room too. It had recently been a janitor’s closet and still smelled of cleaning supplies. He had a little mattress on the floor. He curled up there now, pulling the blankets over himself. The heater was next door, and it made a terrible racket as it worked overtime to ward off the winter cold.

A little over a year into winter, and Theon was sure he wouldn’t live to see spring.

“You mustn’t lose hope, lad.”

Theon lifted his head. When he saw the dead, they appeared just as they had in life, so at least he didn’t have to see what the walkers had done to Davos’s body.

“We’re all going to die,” Theon said. “For myself, I don’t care. But everyone else—”

“—joined on this mission just like you did,” Davos interrupted. “I knew the risks. I knew very well I could die, or worse.”

Worse than death. Becoming a walker. Theon had never been able to contact the spirits of walkers, so if he was talking to Davos right now, that meant he hadn’t become one of them. He was just dead.

“But I agreed to come anyway,” he went on, “because there’s a little girl in Kings Landing who I swore to protect.”

Theon fiddled with his fingers under the blankets. “I swore to protect someone too. I failed. Before any of this even began…I failed.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because the President thought I…” He trailed off. “I’ve got other people to protect.” Sansa, Margaery. Sam, Gilly. The other members of their expedition. Asha. He knew it was laughable to think he could protect any of these people, or that any of them either needed or wanted his protection. But…but it was better than nothing.

Davos nodded. “I failed to protect people in my life,” he said. “My sons, mostly. But there were others…other wars…” He shook his head. “I’m done fighting. But you’re not. If you give up, we’ll lose. The government will enact its contingency plan, or else Euron will continue uncontested. Either way, lots of people will die.”

Theon laughed. “But no pressure, right?”

Davos laughed too, though his sounded a little more genuine. “I’m afraid I’m not so used to giving ghostly pep talks.”

It was strange that a silence could be both comfortable and awkward at the same time.

“What’s it like?” Theon asked, not allowing the moment to linger. “Dying, I mean?”

“Well…” Davos furrowed his brow. “It’s very painful, and then it’s not painful at all.”

“Sounds nice. The, uh, not painful part, I mean. I’m sorry about how you died.”

“It wasn’t pleasant, no. But the moment you leave your body…everything makes sense suddenly. Comforting. Like when you were a child.”

“Things didn’t make sense when I was a child,” Theon admitted.

“You can see the big picture,” Davos continued. “You can see…everything. It’s beautiful, like being adrift in space. And you want to go, to see those distant stars, but there’s something holding you back. Something tethering you to this plane.”

“Something like what?”

“You.” Davos looked out the door. “Them. People you’ve left behind.”

“Sorry I’m keeping you tethered here.”

“Oh, nothing to apologize for. It’s nice to be remembered for a little bit, isn’t it?”

“Where…?” Theon paused, mouth still opened. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ask that question, “Where will you go next?” Because he already knew where _Davos_ would go next. The man was a saint in life, probably had his pick of any of the Seven Heavens. The real question was, “Where will _I_ go?” He wasn’t ready to receive any confirmation about where child murderers went.

“It will be okay, lad,” Davos said. “My problems are over, but yours are not.”


	2. Dead End II

Theon woke up to Asha’s boot toeing his knee. He looked up to see her silhouetted in the early morning light, her rifle clutched to her chest. “Wake up,” she hissed under her breath. “We’re heading out in ten minutes.”

Theon disentangled himself from the blankets. Asha left him to get ready, which consisted of washing his face in the janitor’s water basin. There was a cracked and foggy mirror above the sink, too worn to make out anything except glimpses of white hair.

When he was done giving himself the closest to a bath he’d managed all week, he joined Asha and the others in the main hall. They were all gathered around her map as she pointed out the areas they were going to hit today. “Margaery says there’s a group of about two dozen walkers focused here,” she said, indicating with her finger. “We’ll lure them to the T-intersection here, then put our heavy-hitters on all sides.”

Theon wasn’t sure when Asha had become the unofficial leader, but she had stepped into the role quite comfortable. Probably because, like Davos, she had spent time in the military.

“Naharis and Grey Worm, you back up Mel here,” she said, running her finger along the streets on the map. “Jaime and Brienne will be with Cersei from this direction.” The atmosphere in the room became decidedly colder, which was saying something. Asha ignored it and finished with, “Belwas and I will hit them here.”

“And the lure?”

“Will run into one of these buildings here and barricade the door behind them,” Asha said.

“That would be us, I guess,” Margaery said, glancing over at Theon.

“It’s strictly voluntary.” Asha leaned heavily on the table. The way she used her wrists to hold her weight instead of her hands had always bothered Theon; it looked so uncomfortable. “But the plan rides on it. If we can’t round up these wights…”

“We’ll do it,” Theon said.

Margaery nodded in agreement.

Asha gave them a faint smile. “In the mood for a jog?”

 

***

 

The thing about the walkers, or wights as some called them, wasn’t that they were fast. They spent most of the time shuffling, especially the ones whose bodies had undergone rigor mortis before they’d been reanimated. No, the thing was that if they did manage to catch you, that was it. Game over.

They tore into their prey like a pack of wild animals, biting and clawing. An effect of the modified rabies virus from the very first batch of walkers. Theon had seen them rip the limbs from their victims, snap bones and gouge out eyes. Even if you escaped an attack, if they managed to draw blood, even just a scratch, you were gone. Fevers and chills within hours, delusional and psychotic behavior by twelve, progressing to death within twenty-four. No vaccine had been found, though the capital was hard at work on it. The latest Theon had heard, the results were not looking good.

So it was with more than a little trepidation that he peered around the corner at the pack of wights lumbering through the snow. They were fairly new ones, possibly less than a week old. Even with the cold preserving their bodies, wights didn’t have much in the way of “life expectancy.” They fell apart from rot or just good old-fashioned wear and tear. Mostly they starved, unable to feed themselves—even dead things needed a source of energy.

They shuffled along the frozen streets. Without plows, the snow had really piled up, up to ten feet in places, enough to block off access to street-level entrances. It would make his and Margaery’s escape that much more difficult.

She took hold of his gloved hand and squeezed. “Are you ready?”

“Give me a second.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

They darted out from behind their cover. The quick movement was all it took. Within a few seconds, one of the walkers had noticed them and lurched forward violently. The others caught on quickly, and as one mass, they turned course.

“Can we run now?” Theon asked, gripping Margaery’s hand tighter.

“Yes,” she said breathily, “let’s.”

They ran, not bothering to check if the walkers were following. Of course they were. They had three blocks to go to reach the T-intersection. It seemed an immeasurably long distance. Margaery was the physically stronger of them, and she all but pulled Theon along, urging him whenever he stumbled.

Behind them, the walkers growled.

This was what he was good for now. Being bait. Bait to lure walkers. Bait to lure Jon. Being bait and then running. Like a coward.

They kicked up fresh snow behind them.  Leaving a trail of footprints right to them. Not that the walkers had the sense to track them. They weren’t even animals, really. Something lower than that, even baser. A fate worse than death.

Theon’s foot caught on a patch of ice. He fell, but Margaery was there, quickly trying to get him back up. He wanted to shake his head, tell her to leave him. Part of him had joined this mission with the hope that he’d die.

“Get up.”

That wasn’t Margaery’s voice. He looked up to see Ramsay glaring down at him.

“Gods dammit, get up, Ghost,” Ramsay hissed. Theon knew that tone. He would have received a kick to the ribs if Ramsay had a body. “As much as I’d love to see your guts all over the snow, things are going to get considerably more boring for me if you just give up.”

Theon wasn’t sure why he obeyed. Training? Habit? Maybe because he wasn’t ready to spend an eternity in hell with Ramsay just yet. He allowed Margaery to help him up, and together they continued running.

They reached the intersection anticlimactically, with plenty of time to spare. They’d agreed beforehand that the hotel would be the best place to protect themselves. The fire escape was covered in snow but still accessible, and they were able to climb easily. Of course, walkers could also climb, when they were inclined, and getting the ladder up was a struggle since it was fairly frozen in place. They abandoned that quickly enough, breaking one of the windows and entering that way.

“Help me move this bed,” Theon said, though he needn’t have bothered, since Margaery apparently had the same thought. They flipped the queen-sized bed on its side and pushed it against the window. A flimsy barricade, to be sure, but it only had to slow any walkers ambitious enough to follow them this far.

“Let’s get to higher ground,” Margaery suggested as yet another level of precaution.

Theon was inclined to agree with her.

The hotel had been abandoned in a hurry. Housekeeping carts remained abandoned in the hallways. Suitcases too heavy to carry by hand were left in doorways. And, of course, it was utterly dark. Electricity to the city had been cut for at least a month now. Some of the pipes had broken, evidenced by icicles hanging from the ceilings and walls. It felt more like a cave than a place where people had once stayed.

“I recognize this carpet,” Margaery said, breaking the eerie silence. “This is the hotel where Sansa and I were staying when everything…”

“Went to shit?” Theon suggested.

“I hope they’re taking care of her in the capital,” she said. “I hope that if anything happens to me, they’ll take care of her.”

“I’m sure they will,” Theon assured, though he felt an irrational snap of anger towards her. Her loved ones were safe, far away from here. She had someone to go back to if she survived. And she was useful, able to scout out dangerous areas in her astral form. Whereas he…he was only good for bait.

They found the stairs and climbed a few floors. It didn’t sound like they were being followed. Even so, they pushed a table against the stairwell exit, then found a room overlooking the street below to watch. They watched from the outside balcony. Inside or out, it was the same temperature. Theon sat with his legs hanging through the bars of the railing.

The walkers gathered in the intersection, biting and snarling at each other. Perhaps they were more humanlike than Theon had given them credit for.

The first attack came from the right. A great wall of fire swept down the street, melting snow and charring dead flesh in its wake. The walkers, possessed of no self-preservation, roared and flailed as Melisandre came at them again, throwing blast after blast from her fingertips. Grey Worm and Daario flanked either side, cutting down the wights who managed to survive her inferno.

The walkers lurched towards them, so they had they their backs turned when the second hit struck. Cersei used anything she could get her mind on—street signs, cars, even other walkers. Threw them about like a child having a tantrum with their toys. It seemed her time in self-inflicted exile had turned her even more feral. If it weren’t for the pallor of her skin, Theon would have thought she was a walker too with the way she bared her teeth. Jaime and Brienne fought back to back as they picked off her leftovers.

The third strike came straight on from the street he and Margaery had just escaped down. Asha led the charge. The muzzle of her semiautomatic flared as she unleashed a steady stream of bullets into the walkers. Belwas used a street sign he had pulled free with his bare hands to swipe the walkers left and right. It awed Theon. No powers to speak of, and they were keeping up with Cersei and Melisandre.

It made him feel even more useless.

“This isn’t how we’re going to win this thing,” Margaery said.

Theon glanced over at her.

“These isolated attacks, taking them out one at a time.” She shook her head. A few strands of hair escaped her fur-lined hood. “As long as there’s a continuous supply of fresh b—” She stopped abruptly. “Do you hear that?”

They went very still. The fighting down below were the most obvious sound, followed by the howling of the wind. But there was another noise, closer than either of those. So near that…

Margaery’s eyes went wide. Theon was sure his matched.

Together, they turned to see the handle on door to the hotel room turning.

“You locked it, right?” Margaery asked.

Slowly, the door swung open.


	3. Dead End III

Slowly, the door swung inwards.

Theon reached for the pistol at his side, as did Margaery. He’d only ever had one occasion to use it since this mission began, but he’d always been something of a sharp-shooter at his family’s shooting range. Possibly the only thing he’d ever gotten praise for. His index fingers had been broken more than once while in Ramsay’s care, but even so, he had a steady grip and level aim.

One eye closed, he stared down the barrel as two figures appeared in the doorway. Small figures.

Shit.

His hands began to shake.

Children walkers. They’d been lucky enough not to run into any yet, but he’d always suspected there were some out there. And of course they’d find him. Of course it would be up to him to shoot their little brains out. Because he was a child murderer and the universe was not likely to let him forget anytime soon.

The taller of the figures threw its arms out. “Don’t shoot! We’re human.”

Theon dropped the gun immediately. Then dropped to his knees. Not walkers. He wouldn’t have to kill them.

Margaery hadn’t dropped her gun, a little Glock 70 she’d trained with down at the capital. “Who are you?” she demanded.

A girl and a boy, early teens by the look of them, stepped into the light. The girl had a crossbow, which she held aloft in a show of obvious surrender. “My name is Meera Reed,” she said, “and this is my brother, Jojen. We’re human.”

Well, obviously. Walkers didn’t talk.

“What are you doing here?” Margaery continued, not lowering her gun.

“We’re here to help you,” the boy said.

“We thought we were the only ones left living in this city,” the girl said.

Margaery slowly lowered her gun. “Is it just the two of you?”

They looked to each other, as if conferring about something. “Yes,” the girl answered for them. “Our father was killed in the first wave.”

“And you’ve been living here on your own since then?” Theon was glad Margaery had the wherewithal to ask these questions. He was still shaking as he reholstered his gun.

“Here? In the hotel?”

“In the city,” Margaery clarified. “How have you been surviving?”

“Mainly by staying out of the way,” the girl, Meera, said. She adjusted the leather strap on the crossbow and flipped it over her back. “We knew you’d be coming, and that you’d need our help.”

“You knew?” Margaery asked.

Theon got to his feet. “You’re one of us?”

“Well, he’s one of you, in any case,” Meera said, nodding towards her brother.

The boy—Jojen, was it?—smiled shyly. “I…see things. In my dreams. Always have.” He took a step forward. He was a frail-looking kid, twelve or thirteen maybe, but scrawny for his age. Delicate. Dependent on his sister. Theon swallowed uncomfortably.

“What sorts of things?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

“Things that happened in the past, things that are going to happen. Things that are happening right now.” Jojen shrugged. “It’s jumbled sometimes. Last night I saw a ghost and a wandering lady would come by this way, and that we would have to help them.”

“ _You’re_ going to help _us_?” Margaery asked incredulously.

“He knows things,” Meera said, scowling. “And you obviously don’t know what you’re doing or there wouldn’t still be walkers roaming the—”

“You’re running out of time,” Jojen interrupted her. “Whether you know it or not. In my dream, there was a blast of orange light, and then a cloud that covered all of Westeros.”

Theon caught Margaery’s guarded look, thrown his direction. “We know,” he said.

“The south is losing control of the quarantine area,” Margaery explained. “President Baratheon sent us in as a last resort before deploying…hard-core military efforts. He gave us forty days.”

“Sixteen days ago,” Theon added.

“If he detonates a bomb over the city,” Jojen said, “then my dream will come to pass. A great cloud will cover all of Westeros and plunge the country, perhaps the entire hemisphere, into a never-ending winter. And it will not stop the walkers.”

Theon sat heavily on the hotel bed. It protested even his slight weight.

“How do we stop it?” Margaery asked, her voice rising. She hardly ever raised her voice. “We’ve been throwing everything we have at them—” She pointed out the window, to where the sounds of fighting were dying down. “—for two weeks. Two solid weeks and we haven’t even made a dent. The disease just keeps spreading and they keep expanding the quarantine zone and it’s not doing anything. So how do we stop them? Do your dreams tell you that?”

“Well, not exactly,” Jojen said, for the first time sounding like his thirteen or so years. “Just that you would be the ones to do it.”

“It’s impossible.”

Theon didn’t even realize he’d said that out loud until everyone turned to look at him.

“Varys told me,” he explained, “before we left. “He said he couldn’t see anything after the last day of our mission.”

“That’s not the same as saying the world is definitely going to end,” Margaery pointed out.

“Don’t you understand?” Theon drew his knees to his chest. “He couldn’t see anything because there’s nothing to see. Everyone is dead.”

Everyone was silent.

Then, Jojen broke away from his sister. She instinctively reached out to grab him, but stopped herself halfway. Just like Asha whenever she felt the need to protect him.

Jojen knelt down at Theon’s level. A _child_ , bending down to meet _him_. “Maybe Varys can’t see because there are too many possible outcomes. Maybe Varys can’t see because the future isn’t set in stone. Has Varys ever spoken with the dead?”

“I don’t think so,” Theon admitted.

“Then you’re already far more qualified to deal with what comes next than him.”

“And what comes next?” Margaery asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know where to go.” He stood. “Back to where it all started.”


	4. Dead End IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the "junk" is beginning to show. This chapter is unfinished because this is where I stopped. Largely I was unhappy with Theon's character development, and while it might have been interesting to take him in a more selfish direction, it was turning the "Then" chapters into a whiny, mopey _Twilight_ knockoff, with Theon completely unable to function after Jon's "death." And that was _not_ an interesting direction for anything.
> 
> So...there's my explanation for why these chapters ended up in my junk drawer.

“You have a lot of allies,” Meera noted, looking around the assembled group.

“We have Sansa to thank for that,” Margaery said. “She’s the one who found most of them.”

“I recognize a few from the news.” Meera nodded with his chin towards Cersei. “Senator Lannister. I saw what you did to your father. My brother had this phase where he was looking up the most grotesque stuff he could find online.”

Cersei glowered at her. Good thing she didn’t have the ability to set people on fire with her mind; that was Melisandre’s thing. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Meera seemed, well, not frightened, but definitely startled. “No.” She put her hands up, disarming herself of malicious intent. “From what I heard, he deserved it.”

Cersei continued to make stank eye at her, until Asha stepped between them, hands on her hips. “So, the creepo twins here are going to get us into the White & Walker facility?” She slung her rifle over her shoulder in a spectacularly irresponsible but badass-looking gesture. “Two questions: How, and what good’s it going to do?”

“There’s a secret tunnel into the facility—”

“Buried under forty feet of snow, we know,” Asha interrupted Meera. “That’s beside the point. What _good_ will it do? All the current walkers were converted via infection. There hasn’t been a new walker sent out of White  & Walker in months. What’s the point in making them by hand when a single bite can make dozens more?”

Meera looked to her brother for guidance.

“In my dreams,” he began with a look of concentration, “there is a crow buried under the ice. It’s pecking to get out.”

Asha looked over her shoulder to Theon, a questioning look on her face. That question being: Are these people insane?

“He dreams in symbols,” Theon answered with a shrug.

“Well, the crow is obviously Euron, in that case,” she said. “So, what about this crow?”

“It needs to be set free from the ice?”

“Are you suggesting we…help Euron?”

Jojen shook his head. “I don’t understand it, but in my dream, freeing the crow is the catalyst. Everything else falls into place after that.”

“And you can’t be more specific than that?”

“I’m sorry.”

Asha sighed. “Well…I guess it’s worth a shot. Hey, Red Bitch.” She jabbed her finger at Melisandre. “You think you can thaw forty feet of snow?”

Melisandre pursed her thin lips together. “I believe so, but it would take all of my strength. I would not be able to fight after such an overextension of my powers.”

“Well, it’s good we have a backup psycho.” Asha ignored the sneer Cersei shot her. “Okay, people, we’ve got a plan. Let’s get some rest. It’s been a hard day and tomorrow’s going to be even harder.”

 

***

 

[Revelation about Jon being alive and uncovering the tunnel back into White & Walker. Largely unchanged. See Chapters 25 and 27 of Dead Zone.]

 

***

 

“You know you’re just gonna die if you go in there right?”

Ramsay had never really left. He was always there, at the peripheral of Theon’s vision, though quieter at times than others. The first few days after they’d escaped White & Walker, he’d talked incessantly, keeping Theon from falling asleep. Not that Theon was up to sleeping, but lying in bed, listening to Ramsay tell him what an awful coward and opportunistic slut he was wasn’t helping matters.

Later, Ramsay went on to describe what happened to traitors in Seventh Hell. When that failed to get a rise out of Theon—how could it? He couldn’t _feel_ anything—he’d gone quieter, only offering the occasional biting remark about how pathetic he’d become.

Until he’d found something else that did get a rise out of Theon.

“Be quiet,” Theon hissed now as they made their way down the yawning tunnel. “You lied. You said Jon was dead.”

“I didn’t say he was _dead_ ,” Ramsay said. “I just said I wondered if your uncle using his body like that counted at necrophilia.”

_That_. Going into hideous detail about how Euron was using Jon’s body: with his “associate” Falia, with the staff, even with his own brother. “I mean, really fucked up shit,” as Ramsay was happy to remind him. And even if Ramsay was lying about the specifics just to rile him, Theon knew the generalities were true. Euron would be using Jon’s body as if it were his own, and what he did with his own body was horrific. The fact that he would be using Jon—sweet, gentle Jon—for such things was…nightmare-inducing.

And then there was the fact that Theon knew what it was like, to wake up and find that someone had been using you while you were out. To find a stranger’s bodily fluids on you and in you, to feel bite marks and bruises. To fell the violation in your soul.

“Okay, so your lover boy isn’t dead,” Ramsay said now. He was just a voice in the dark, whispering into his ear. “You really think he’ll be happy to see you again after you ran and left him?”

“He was happy to see me last night,” Theon muttered, not really for Ramsay’s benefit.

“Well, yeah, because he didn’t think you’d come back for him. But once he starts to think about it, he’ll probably be pretty pissed. I mean, I know I’d be pissed if the guy who said he’d love me forever and ever just up and left me to rot in a bunker for six months. If it were me, I’d punch that guy’s fucking teeth out. But…that’s just me.”

“Jon’s not you,” Theon said.

“Who are you talking to?”

Theon jumped. He’d almost forgotten Jojen was there, trailing with a flashlight while Meera covered their backside with her crossbow. The shadows cast from the flashlight made his wan face seem even more sunken and sickly. He looked like some sort of crypt keeper.

“One of them?” he prompted when Theon didn’t answer his question right away.

Theon nodded.

“I told you and Margaery that you would be important in ending this thing.” He glanced over at Margaery, as if making sure she wasn’t listening. “Actually, it’s you.”

Theon scoffed.

“I saw it in my dream. You held a great sword in your hands, made of Valyrian steel. You plunged it into your lover’s chest, and when you drew it out—”

“Don’t.”

“—it was ablaze with flames. And this fiery sword, Lightbringer, is what will turn back the winter and bring light back to this world.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Theon fought to keep his voice even so as not to alert the others. “Here’s what’s really going to happen. We’re going to find Jon, wherever they’re keeping him. We’re going to find my uncle and force him to get out of Jon’s body. That—” He jabbed Jojen’s chest, and Meera jerked with her crossbow, “—is how things are going to happen.”

Jojen was unfazed. “And then what?”

“And then what _what_?”

“What happens after that? Euron will be dead, but the walkers will still be out there. President Baratheon will still drop the bomb. The world will still end.”

“Who cares? At least I’ll spend that last few minutes with Jon. Anyway, I don’t see what you care. You’re a kid, so you’ll probably go to one of the Seven Heavens. Others of us aren’t so lucky.”

“So…that’s it?” Jojen asked levelly. “You’re going to throw the world away? Just like that? If death is all the same to you—”

Theon spun on him. Meera raised her crossbow to defend her brother, but Jojen waved her off. Some of the other party members turned to see what was going on as Theon and Jojen, one nearly a head shorter than the other, glared each other down.

“I’ve been talking to dead people for three years now,” Theon said. “I know what I’m talking about. And trust me. It is all the same. Your death. My death. Even Jon’s death. We’re all going to die. At the same time, probably, according to your dream. And when that happens, I am _never_ seeing Jon again. _Ever_. He’s not going to the same place I’m going. I’d rather spend five more minutes of my wasted life with him than fifty years without. Because death is all the same. It’s not going to change a thing. But life…that’s different.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: A sequel/alternate continuity for [The Kraken Affair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4137621/chapters/9331680).


	5. The Kraken Initiative I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings. Warnings on top of warnings. This section has Thramsay and all manner of unpleasant things. There's also explicit mpreg, getting that out of the way right now.
> 
> Still here? Okay. 
> 
> This is a sequel/alternate continuation of [the Kraken Affair](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4137621/chapters/9331680). A darker scenario where Asha shows up too late and Theon doesn't rebel against Ramsay's kidnapping. Thus, Ramsay escapes with Reek to the Slavers System while the intrepid trio of Robb, Jon, and Asha work to track him down.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> -Referenced past and ongoing rape  
> -Physical abuse  
> -Human trafficking

“I found something.”

There was a routine now. When Ramsay came back, he would strip off his jacket and hang it on the jagged nail sticking out of the wall. Then he would kick off his shoes, unbutton his collar, and roll up his sleeves before checking on Theon. And all the while he would give updates about how the search for a new vessel and crew was going, as if Theon even cared.

“It’s a bit of a junker,” he said now as he shrugged the red jacket from his shoulders. He wasn’t concerned with standing out on this planet, full of so many strange and colorful things that a seven-foot Canid and a blue-skinned Kraken practically blended straight it. “Nothing as good as our old ship, to be sure, but I think she’ll do.”

Theon wondered if “our old ship” meant the personal shuttle they’d stolen from Ramsay’s father and later sold to pay for their accommodations or the Kraken ship Theon had stolen from his own father that had later been confiscated by the Night’s Watch.

Theon closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of shoes being kicked against the wall, then the rustling of clothes, then the approaching of feet along the creaky floorboards. The planks that held the bed together groaned as Ramsay added his weight to them. The bed was not big enough for the both of them, and growing smaller by the day. A fact Ramsay loved commenting on.

“Of course, you’ll have to keep working on our investment,” he chuckled. A hand snaked around to rest on Theon’s belly. “A found a woman today who will pay 5,000 credits for each Kraken baby, so let’s hope it’s twins.” Among Krakens, singles were rarer than twins.

Theon pressed his face into the pillow. When they’d first come to this planet, the man who’d bought Roose’s ship had offered another 20,000 for Theon. Ramsay had broken the man’s arm and told him he was lucky to be alive after their transaction, but it had confused Theon at the time.

“Will she pay the full price even if they’re not full Krakens?” he asked as Ramsay continued to caress his stomach. “Even if they can’t pilot a Kraken ship?”

Ramsay snorted. “I _really_ don’t think this woman even _has_ a Kraken ship at her disposal. They just need to come out _looking_ Kraken enough.” His other hand came around to tangle in Theon’s mass of tendrils. “It’s the tentacles that drive them wild here.”

Theon’s heart clenched. “Who _was_ this person?”

He already knew, but Ramsay answered anyway. “A madam who owns a brothel on the other side of the city. Specialized in exotic tastes.”

“You can’t!”

He started to sit up, but Ramsay was up first, pressing him back into the thin mattress and climbing on top of him. “Oh, really? I _can’t_?”

Theon didn’t feel any particular attachment to the thing or things growing inside of him, but the thought of giving them such a horrible life was too much. It snapped the complacency out of him, and he struggled to get out from under Ramsay. “You can’t,” he repeated. “They’re your children too.”

Ramsay growled and doubled down on his weight, crushing the body beneath him and forcing the air from its lungs. “You think you can go back to giving me orders just because your machine parts have been taken out?” He cupped Theon’s face, fingers brushing against the scars where the mind control device had been surgically removed. “I went through all the trouble of rescuing you because I wanted my Reek back. I have no use for Theon Greyjoy. So if you’re going to keep acting like him, I’ll just have to start over on a new Reek. Maybe a Lycan. I hear they _love_ red hair out here…”

Theon stopped his struggling. “Please. You said you wouldn’t hurt Robb.”

“Well, as long as I have my Reek, I won’t _need_ to hurt _Robb_.” He spat the name out like it was utterly loathsome. “And believe me, he deserves to get hurt. For what he did to you.” He leaned down and started planting kisses along Theon’s jaw and neck. “I’d have a fun time breaking him in, and you’d have a fun time watching me.”

Theon closed his eyes as Ramsay’s lips went lower, hand sliding in under his shirt to push it up. “Please don’t hurt Robb.”

“I won’t.” A kiss on his nipple, which was sensitive now and had him squirming. “He’d never be as good as you, anyway.” Lower now, lips pressed to his belly, where the bulge was beginning to show. “My little freak.”


	6. The Kraken Initiative II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter, just Robb, Jon, and especially Asha roughing people up.
> 
> I'm going with show!Kraznys because his appearance better fits his species.

“This looks like a place Ramsay would run to,” Robb noted, scrunching up his nose as the smell hit him. The dust and dryness of this desert planet made everything smell like rotting meat left in the sun. That, combined with the thousands of sweaty bodies pressed in close together, almost overwhelmed his sensitive nose.

Jon could smell it too, judging from the way he cupped his hand against his mouth. “Well, we know he got rid of his personal shuttle here.” He turned against the tide of people and reached into the folds of his cloak. It had been suggested that Jon should keep his wings concealed while in the Slavers System. In addition to needing to remain incognito, apparently Draconians were not popular at the moment.

This was a backwater planet in a backwater system, a hodge-podge of people with no native species. No wonder it lingered on the edge of intergalactic law, a safe haven for criminals of all walks. In fact, they hadn’t walked more than five minutes from the docks before Robb had seen illegal weapons, drugs, medical procedures, and sex acts all on sale. And Ramsay Bolton had brought Theon to a place like this?

“I don’t like this place,” Asha said, rather redundantly. “It’s too dry here. Theon won’t be doing well.” She ran her hands along her gills, grimacing. “We should hurry up and find him.”

Not that Robb needed any prompting, but he was glad Asha was at least as eager to get her brother back as he was. Jon as well, the only member of the Night’s Watch who’d cared enough to go after Ramsay Bolton after he’d run. To the Night’s Watch, he was small fry, a pirate who’d gotten lucky in commandeering a Kraken ship, and since they already had his crew in custody, there was no sense in sending a team halfway across the galaxy for gods knew how long to track down one corsair.

With only the three of them—and Jon’s friend and fellow Watch member, Sam’s, intelligence support—it had taken them three months to track down a ship with Roose Bolton’s personal identification number on it. It had shown up here, paid for in cash, put on the market with the serial number painted over, though they hadn’t been able to strip it from the systems. So that’s where they were headed now, disguised as buyers.

The streets were crowded with people of every size, shape, and species. A preponderance of Ovines, Aquilians, and Equines, but also Capricans, Serpentines, and Bovines, though he didn’t see any Piscines at all—probably too dry for them. Lycans and Canids were rarer. Robb had never been to a place with so few of them. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t part of the crowd but actually stood out because of his wolf-like ears and tail. Did Jon and Theon feel this self-conscious growing up on Lyca?

“Stop twitching,” Asha hissed. “You’re acting suspicious.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want us to get arrested now,” Robb said back, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head.

“This guy’s not going to give us any information if you keep acting like you’re expecting the authorities to sweep in at any moment.” She grabbed the scruff of his cloak and yanked him back harshly. Usually Krakens weren’t so strong out of the water. “Look here, Stark. If you ruin our chances of finding my brother…”

“I won’t! How could you even think that?”

She eyed him up and down. “I don’t know what kind of relationship the two of you had.” Fair enough, even he didn’t know that. “I honestly don’t know anything about you, Stark, except that you’re the son of the guy who came and took my brother away in the first place. And I know you failed to arrest the guy who was keeping my brother as his slave for over a cycle.” That hurt. “And I know that nobody in my family cares what happens to Theon. So, yeah, I’m pretty much relying on myself to take care of business here.”

“Would you stop?” Jon pushed his way between them, then looked left and right down the street to make sure no one was watching them. “We all want to get Theon back and bring Ramsay to justice. Arguing isn’t going to do anything but bring unwanted attention to us.”

Asha narrowed her eyes. Robb returned the look. He did not appreciate her implication that he didn’t care what happened to Theon. He’d been working nonstop on this case for three months now. He’d been the one to eventually find their current lead—well, technically, it had been Sam, but under Robb’s authorization to use classified databases. He was the one allowing her to come along on this mission. If that didn’t convince her of his intentions, then she didn’t need convincing.

Jon rolled his eyes. “Keep this up, you two, and you’ll _both_ ruin our chances of finding Theon.” Of course Jon was the master of compromise.

“Okay,” Asha said at last, breaking eye contact, which told Robb’s wolf side that he had actually won whatever argument they’d been having. “Let’s decide how we’re going to play this before we go in. I know the most about spacefaring vessels, so leave the dealing to me. Stark, since you’re the biggest, you play the strong and silent type. Our bodyguard. Intimidate the little twerp if he tries anything.”

“How do you know this guy is a little twerp?” Jon asked.

“Because they always are,” she answered. “If he could make money with his fists, he wouldn’t be wheedling it out of used ships. And you…” She gave Jon a once over as well. “You play dumb. Make him repeat things, say the obvious. It frustrates them to no end. He might give up some information.”

Robb was about to ask how she knew about illegal trade dealings but decided he didn’t need to know. Besides, they had already reached the low-roofed bunker, a haphazard sign in sloppy Common proclaiming “Used Ships, Parts, Great Deals.” The building looked like something left standing after a nuke strike from orbit—all cracked stone, sand piled to the roof, flaking paint that might have once had color to it. It was not a place Robb wanted to enter, but if it was for Theon, he supposed it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

They ducked through the doorframe, Jon and Asha side by side while Robb hung back, silent. The front counter was empty, but at the beeping of the front door alarm, a great rustling commotion arose from the back and an Aquilian man stumbled out from behind a swinging door. Not even an automatic door, but one with hinges and a doorknob. He slammed it closed behind him, locked it with a little key, and then hurried over to greet them.

“Ah,” he said with a broad grin, “you are looking for ship?” He spoke in very broken Common. Robb didn’t know if he’d consider the man a “little twerp,” but he was tall and thin, with a balding head and a scrawny bird-neck. Half the feathers on his right arm had been ripped out and were in the process of growing back in. At least, Robb guessed they’d been ripped out, since this guy seemed to be meticulous otherwise, with his clothing and goatee. He also carried his arm awkwardly, as if it were still mending. The avian species had particularly delicate bones; it wouldn’t take much for someone like Ramsay to snap an arm. “You call earlier?”

Asha nodded. “We’re looking for something built for comfort over speed. It’s just me, my husband—” She motioned to Jon, who did not hide his surprise very well. “—and our bodyguard. We won’t be needing anything large. Though rest assured, money is no object.”

The man’s eyes gleamed and he clapped his hands together. “I may have just the thing.” He motioned for them to follow him around to the back. Asha went without hesitation, but Robb saw Jon’s hand go to the gun at his side as a precaution. The Aquilian didn’t seem to notice. “I am Kraznys,” he said over his shoulder. “I set you up real good.” He winked at Jon. “Make good deal.”

The back hangar was filled with ships in all states of disrepair, mostly personal-sized shuttles but also a few cargo-class vessels. The air was stale with dust. Robb had to watch his feet for the shiny puddles of fuel on the ground.

Sure enough, Kraznys led them straight to Roose Bolton’s personal spacecraft. It had been repainted, sloppily so, and some of the external parts had clearly been dismantled, but Robb had spent enough time pouring over the craft’s specs to know it when he saw it. A quick and silent nod to Asha told her what she needed to do.

“We get this in new, just this week,” Kraznys said, patting the hull of the ship. That didn’t fit with the timeframe of the deal, but that didn’t mean anything. Dealers lied about that sort of thing all the time. “New condition. Hardly used.”

Asha ran through the model’s features, which Robb honestly couldn’t care less about. What he really wanted to do was slam this slimy little guy up against the wall and make him answer the relevant questions: Who sold you this ship? Where are they now?

“And…who did you say this belonged to?” Jon asked, playing his part of the clueless husband.

“Rich man. Very powerful. Very wealthy.”

“And why was he selling it?” Jon continued, hand on his chin, eyebrows scrunched. “Was there some…defect?”

“Defect?” Kraznys feigned horror. “No, no defect. I only take quality products. Qua-li-ty.” He patted the hull again. “This man want upgrade. Say he looking to expand. I think…I am having ship this nice, I am keeping onto it.” He gave them all the sleaziest of smiles. “But not for me to question, eh? I give him good deal, just like I give you good deal.”

“And who was he?” Jon asked again.

“Big man. Wealthy. He fit in this shuttle, I tell you, your bodyguard have no trouble fitting.”

A physically large man, he meant. A big man.

“And it was his ship?” Jon asked _again_.

His incessant questioning was beginning to annoy Kraznys, Robb could tell. He could hear the grinding of avian teeth in the man’s head. “You want I get you a name? I do not give out client names. But I do give you good deal. Good deal.” He rubbed his taloned hands together and leaned in, completely ignoring Asha. “I pay top price for this shuttle, but for you, lovely friends, I am willing to trade. I give to you for 5,000 credits plus woman.”

Robb blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right. “Excuse me?” he said, forgetting he was supposed to be the strong and silent one.

“I offer same to man, but I make you _better_ offer because your Kraken is female. More holes.” He winked.

And that was when Robb reached out, wrapped his hand around the man’s scrawny neck, and started thrashing him. “You sick fuck, what have you done with Theon?” Kraznys squawked in surprise and feathers flew everywhere. “How much did you pay for him?”

“Robb, stop!” Asha and Jon were on him in an instant, wrestling him away from the Aquilian.

“He’s got him!” Robb fought against them. Mostly Jon. “He’s got Theon here somewhere. Locked up.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Asha grunted, and as Robb pried him off, she strode up to Kraznys and punched him in the gut. He doubled over and fell on the ground. “Ramsay didn’t risk getting arrested just so he could pawn Theon off on some penny-pinching dealer. My guess is Ramsay didn’t take your offer.” She brought her boot down on Kraznys’s arm, the one he’d been holding oddly, and he shrieked. “Isn’t that right?”

“No, no,” he cried, wriggling under Asha’s boot. “I swear. I don’t have.”

“But you saw him,” she went on, kneeling down to look him in the eye. “A Kraken male with a large Canid? That’s who this ship belonged to, right?”

Tears in his eyes, Kraznys nodded.

“And they left together, after the Canid didn’t like your answer. I’m guessing he’s the one who did this to you originally.” She ground her boot against his arm.

“Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“I won’t re-break it,” Asha said, “if you can tell me what I want to know.”

“Anything. Please, don’t!”

Asha’s grin was maniacal. “Do you know where these two are now…the Kraken and the Canid?”

He shook his head.

“Did they tell you where they were going?”

He shook his head.

“Do you know any way we can contact them?”

He started to shake his head, but Asha stood with a frustrated sigh. He flinched at the sudden movement.

“You’re not being very cooperative.”

“I try!” he begged. “I tell you what I know, and that is nothing. I don’t have name, I don’t have address or line number. I know he says he is upgrading. He asks me where to find big ship. I show him mine. He is not impressed. Asks me where he can hire crew.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Look in Yunkai. Many mercenary.”

Asha lifted her boot and he crawled out from underneath it. “Then that’s where we’ll look.”


	7. The Kraken Initiative III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major warnings for explicit rape in this chapter.

“Look what I found.”

Theon turned over on the bed when he didn’t hear the sound of Ramsay taking off his jacket. He had something tucked under his arm, a tall, skinny picture frame, it looked like. He kicked off his shoes as he crossed the room, so eager that his usual routine of undressing was forgotten. He set the thing on the ground at the foot of the bed, and Theon found himself looking into his own cracked reflection.

“Can you believe someone was just going to throw this away?” Ramsay laughed. Now he was shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of a ratty chair.

Theon could believe someone was throwing it away. The mirror was dirty and broken. A dozen eyes stared back at him from the shallow, murky depths. As Ramsay undressed, Theon crawled on hands and knees to the end of the bed and reached out with cautious fingers for the mirror’s surface. It was rough and jagged under his fingers, but the reflection moved the way it should—it followed his every action. The thing was, Theon couldn’t tell if it was the mirror that was distorted beyond belief or his own image. Was this thin, white-skinned Kraken really him? Were those his eyes, all glassy and faraway? Were those his bony hands that trembled the more he tried to hold them steady?

“Fancying yourself?” Ramsay mocked. He stepped out of his pants, revealing that he was hard and eager. “Let’s have a little fun with it, eh?”

He climbed onto the bed behind Theon, encircling him with his large arms and pulling him back against his chest. The threadbare cotton shift Theon wore came away easily in his hands, leaving them both bare. Theon was repulsed by the image of his body cradled in Ramsay’s lap and tried to look away, but Ramsay forced his head up to look into the mirror.

“I want you to see what your face looks like when I enter you.”

And without further warning, Ramsay grabbed hold of his hips, lifted him up, and brought him back down, impaling him from behind. Theon watched his face contort in pain and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.

“You’re beautiful when you’re in pain.” Ramsay was grinning over his shoulder. “You were made to suffer, and _I_ was made to _make_ you suffer.” He began moving, shallowly, hands raising Theon’s hips and letting gravity bring him back down. “You take it so well.”

Theon’s head bobbed with the rhythm of their coupling in what could potentially be interpreted as nodding.

As Ramsay’s breathing grew quicker and shallower, his movements became more frantic, hitting deeper inside, forcing the air from Theon’s lungs with each thrust. Ramsay was as big as his overall size suggested, perhaps even bigger. No matter how many times he bent him over or threw him on the ground, it always hurt. Always.

“That’s a good look on you, too,” Ramsay breathed as his hands moved from Theon’s hips to the swell of his belly. “Five months and you already look like you’re ready to pop. Are you sure Krakens have normal gestation periods?”

Theon nodded, more of his own will now. He watched himself in the mirror as he was brought up and down, and the way it caused the bulge of his stomach to become even more pronounced than it was. Perhaps it was because the rest of him was so skinny, or perhaps it was just a multiple-birth thing. He and Asha had been his mother’s last, so he couldn’t remember what her pregnancy had been like. Most likely, she had been just as large, at five months looking more like eight months along.

“I can’t wait to see how big you are at nine months,” Ramsay chuckled. “You’ll hardly be able to walk. I like that, though. I’ll keep you like this all the time. Barefoot and pregnant.” He laughed at his own joke.

Theon felt Ramsay’s knot beginning to form and braced himself. But if a year of it hadn’t gotten him used to it by now, he doubted he ever would be. The sudden widening at the base of Ramsay’s cock locking them together, stretching his hole open. At least it brought the erratic thrusting to a halt. As Ramsay slowed and rested his head on Theon’s shoulder to catch his breath, Theon couldn’t help but wonder if Robb had a knot as well. Canids and Lycans were cut from the same canine ancestors, but there was no telling which traits would show up where and when. Ramsay, for instance, was almost entirely human-looking, except for his size and now the bit of flesh rammed inside Theon. They would be joined together for some time now, and all that was left was to wait.

Ramsay smirked back at him from the mirror. “I bet with that bump, you haven’t been able to see yourself properly in a while.” His hands slid down Theon’s belly, past the dip of his hips, and came to rest at the area between his legs.

Theon turned his head away so as not to look, but Ramsay growled in warning.

“Here’s your little cock,” he said, wrapping his hand around it. In truth, Theon wasn’t “little” so much as Ramsay was big enough to dwarf him in comparison. He’d certainly never had any complaints from his partners on Lyca. He didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about those days, though. “Aww,” Ramsay cooed as it came to life in his hands, “the little guy’s feeling neglected.” Mostly he wished he didn’t have it, if for no other reason than Ramsay wouldn’t be able to use it against him like this.

His face remained completely blank, he noted with some approval.

Ramsay finished stroking him to hardness, then went lower, to that… _new thing_. Theon hated that even more. He’d never actually seen it properly, merely felt it every day, like an intruder in his body. He didn’t dare look away as Ramsay spread him open to reveal the pinkness inside. “Do you get wet when you get hard?”

A finger probed inside.

“Do you get off watching yourself? You enjoy seeing yourself in the midst of your sluttish fervor?”

Theon’s face was impassive. There was no chance of anyone mistaking it for fervor, but Ramsay never let things like reality get in the way of his vision.

“Look at yourself,” he repeated, fingers knuckle-deep inside of him. “This is where the money for our new life is going to come from. So next time you see Daddy Dearest, you can tell him how _wrong_ he was about you never accomplishing anything in your life.”

Another finger was added, and Theon watched as they disappeared and reappeared in rhythm.

“You’ve made _me_ quite happy,” Ramsay purred into his ear. “So happy. Tell me you love me, Reek.”

When he’d first started raping him, Theon had thought it was just another one of Ramsay’s ways to hurt and humiliate him, the same way he liked knocking him down in front of the crew and ordering him to get back up. He’d punch him until his face was black and bloody, until he passed out and physically couldn’t take orders anymore. He’d peel the top layer of the skin on his arms and the soles of his feet with a laser precision, always joking about how he was “scaling a fish.” He’d break Theon’s fingers one by one and watch as the pain swelled to tears in his eyes, unable to even scream.

So, yes, _that_ had seemed like just another form of torture, as Ramsay ripped apart his insides and ordered him to stroke himself to hardness while he did it. But sometime into his captivity, Ramsay started telling him to stay afterwards instead of banishing him back to the control tank on the bridge. He’d tell Theon to wrap his arms around him, to curl up next to him and rest his head on the larger man’s chest. He’d be forced to sleep like that, with Ramsay running his fingers over the studs of the mind control device.

The first time he’d asked Theon to kiss him on the lips, he knew. Ramsay had some sort of sick affection for him. Well, not really _him_ , but the Theon he’d created—Reek. He could still hear the words whispered hotly against his ear as they lay in bed, entwined after a round of less-brutal-than-usual fucking. “Tell me you love me, Reek.”

He’d learned not to say, “Tell me how much you love me, Reek,” because even the mind control device couldn’t compel Theon to lie about his opinions. He’d received a dislocated shoulder for replying, “Not at all. I hate you.” Ramsay had beaten him mercilessly, kicked him in the stomach so hard that he’d vomited up bile. Only when the ship’s doctor advised that the captive would die without proper medical treatment had Ramsay let him be tended.

The next time they fucked, he’d simply given it as an order again. “Tell me you love me, Reek.”

And Theon, unable to tremble or flinch away, answered like he always had before. “I love you.”


	8. The Kraken Initiative IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply except that I should clarify that this is not a complete story. If you're expecting an ending, you haven't been paying attention. That said, when I reach the end of what I have written, I'll post a quick note about the ending I envisioned it having.

At first, _The Bloody Mummer_ looked like any of the dozens of seedy bars they’d visited in Yunkai. The plaque above the door painted with laughing clown. _The Second Sons_ had had two crossed swords, _The Golden Company_ had had a Spartan-style helmet, _The Stormcrow_ had predictably had a crow—no matter what the plaque, all the bars were the same. The same dingy mercenaries waiting for their next paycheck.

“This is the place?” Robb asked, studying the clown above the door. What he’d first thought were the clown’s painted eyes began to look more and more like tears of blood.

Jon nodded. “Sam said we’d find our man here. He runs a gang known as the Brave Companions from this bar.” They’d been wandering around this gods awful planet for weeks now, and the only thing they’d turned up was the hushed advice to “ask for Vargo Hoat.” Research had yielded a Caprican man with a rap sheet that scrolled on forever. Wanted in virtually every system. A diverse crew at his disposal. If Ramsay hadn’t come to him for help, then he wasn’t looking for a crew at all.

Robb nodded to Asha to pull her scarf up. The first bar they’d gone to, she’d refused to cover up, saying that she could defend herself from any creeps looking to make an offer on a Kraken slave. And to her credit, when someone had gotten a little too feely with her tentacles, she’d snapped his fingers back to dissuade him. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, if they hadn’t then been thrown out of the bar. Disbarred, as it were. All without getting any sort of information at all. From then on, she’d agreed that it would be in Theon’s best interest if she didn’t get them chucked from the only solid lead they had so far.

The bar inside was dark and smoky, with the smells of a half dozen species intermingling with body odor in the worst possible way. So, pretty par for the course. Robb had gotten good at keeping a straight face when assaulted with the stench of these establishments. Nobody batted an eye as the three of them entered and made their way to one of the tables in the back.

The table was sticky with what Robb hoped was old beer. The leather of the booth had been worn down to the wood underneath. He could tell Jon was having a hard time getting comfortable, wings twitching under his cloak as he fidgeted in his seat. Robb shot him a warning glance to settle down. They were already cleaner than anyone in here; they didn’t need more attention drawn to them before they could find this Vargo guy.

The last known picture Sam had been able to pull up was that of a long-faced man with a scruffy beard, one of his goat horns broken off at the base. Robb pulled it up on his tablet now and took quick glances at it under the table as he compared it to the Caprican men seated at the bar or shooting billiards in the corner.

“Any luck?” Asha asked. She couldn’t look around very well with her scarf wrapped around her face and her hood pulled up over her head. She wriggled impatiently in her seat. “Hurry up. Let’s find this fucker already.”

Robb gave her a warning growl. She wasn’t the only one who wanted this over as quickly as possible, after all.

And Jon was still shuffling back and forth on the bench, trying to get his wings to fit right. As if Robb didn’t have a similar problem with his tail.

“Would you two stop fidgeting?” he snapped. “This is our last lead. _Our last_. Do you understand? If you get us thrown out of another place for being _suspicious_ , we’re essentially back at square one.”

Asha leaned forward with one elbow. “If you’ve got something to say to me, Stark, say it.”

“Why would I have anything to say to you?”

“Because you think I’m somehow deliberately sabotaging our efforts to save my brother. You think _I’m_ the troublemaker when _you’re_ the one who punched out Kraznys’s lights. You know, that one lead we had before.”

“Yeah, okay, but I’m not the one who punched some other guy’s lights out just for touching me. I don’t think you’re deliberately sabotaging our efforts. I think your pride is getting in the way.”

Asha’s voice was low and steady. “Don’t you dare blame this on me. You’re the one who let Ramsay Bolton slip through your fingers, with my brother in tow. And you’re the one who drove him into the arms of that psychopath in the first place.” She turned her head and spat. A few of the bar patrons turned to watch. “As far as I’m concerned, Theon is in this predicament because of you. Because of your incompetence. So forgive me for being a bit skeptical when we’ve been searching for five months now and haven’t turned up a single sighting of my brother.”

Robb slammed his palms on the table, but Jon was the first to stand. “Stop it, the both of you.” He looked from one to the other. “Yeah, okay, we’ve been out in the outer reaches for too long with only each other for company. But let’s just remember that we all have the same goal here. We’re allies, and probably the only people in this entire galaxy who actually care about Theon.”

That brought Robb up short. He’d always suspected Jon was helping as a favor, some familial bond. Jon had never been fond of Theon growing up, though the two had had more in common than any other two people on Lyca. And while Robb had tried in vain to get them to get along, they had always been, at best, aloof around each other.

“People are watching us,” Jon said under his breath. “I’m going to the bar to order some drinks. I’ll say you two were fighting about some bet, then I’ll ask about this Vargo character.” His eyes went from Robb to Asha, not so much asking permission as telling them how this was going to go down. “Clear?”

Asha nodded reluctantly, and Robb joined in.

He watched Jon’s retreating form and winced at the way the cloak almost concealed the contour of his dragon wings—but not quite. Still, the only ones who would notice were those on the lookout for Draconians, and Jon appeared to be a Lycan in every other sense.

Asha drummed her fingers along the table as they waited for him to get back. “I don’t blame you,” she said at last.

Robb lifted his eyes.

“Not as much as I should, in any case,” she went on. “I know you love my brother.”

“I don’t—”

She held up a hand. “I didn’t say _how_ you love him. I’m not sure even you have that figured out yet. But I know you care for him, which is more than I can say about my father. But you fucked up, Stark. You had one job, and you fucked it up.”

Robb scowled.

“For what it’s worth, I fucked up too. When Theon came back to Pyke, begging for his own ship and crew, I… He’s always been a twat, my brother. He had these delusions of grandeur, and I thought the best way to knock sense into him was to knock him down off his high horse. He was _embarrassing_ me, my entire family.”

Robb studied the woodgrain of the table, the myriad rings that marked its surface. “When I talked to him, he wanted to take responsibility for his actions. He wanted to feel like he’d been in charge of everything up to…up to when Ramsay took control. I don’t think he’d want you blaming yourself.”

Asha pulled her scarf back just enough to wipe at her eye with the back of her hand. “He’s always been such a twat.”

They sat in a sort of mutually understanding silence.

Robb was glad to see Jon returning from the bar, if a little confused that he didn’t have any drinks in his hands. Even more confused and alarmed that he was bringing someone with him, a large Ursine man. The look on Jon’s face told Robb the tagalong was unwelcomed, but as Robb reached for the gun at his belt, the Ursine man lifted his cloak to reveal his own gun, pointed at Jon’s back.

“Let’s not make a scene,” he growled. “We’ll talk outside.”

Robb looked around the bar, gaging his options. “Is your gang going to jump us the moment we step foot outside?”

“Even if I had a gang, who would you rather take your chances against? Me, or every piece of scum in this establishment?”

“Fair enough.” Robb stood and nodded for Asha to follow his lead. For once she obeyed without question. Together, the four of them drifted through the smoky haze of the bar and out the door, all without anyone lifting an eye.

Once outside, the Ursine grabbed hold of the scruff of Jon’s neck and yanked him back. With his gun he gestured for Robb and Asha to head down the alleyway behind the _Bloody Mummer_. Here was where Robb drew the line, and his own gun. “Let him go,” he snarled.

“We need to speak in private,” the man said.

“Fine, we’ll talk in private. Let him go first.”

“You don’t realize what sort of danger you were bringing your Draconian friend here into in there.”

Robb’s hand faltered. “How—?”

“I’ve smelled Draconian before,” the man said. “Granted, this one doesn’t smell _full_ Draconian. You’re lucky they’re not more common or someone else would have picked up on it as well. And judging by the way you’ve got your Kraken all covered up, you know how the people out here react to exotic species.” He released Jon’s neck. “Please, let us speak in private.”

Robb grabbed Jon’s arm and pulled him back. “You two go back to the ship.”

“Fuck that,” Asha said. She turned to the Ursine man. “You knew I was a Kraken?”

“I’ve smelled Kraken before as well.”

“It so happens we’re looking for a Kraken. Last seen with a Canid looking to hire a ship and crew.”

The Ursine’s eyes darted from left to right. There were still a number of patrons hanging around outside the bar, and Robb was beginning to agree that a private conversation might be safer. “I might have information you’re looking for,” he said slowly. “But we shouldn’t talk here. Your friend isn’t safe.”

Robb got chills at that. “Okay. We’ll talk. If you’d be kind enough to put your gun away.”

The man nodded and holstered his weapon. Then he quirked his head for them to follow him down the alleyway. Robb noted with approval that he didn’t ask any of them to put their guns away.

The alleyway smelled of all the refuse of the city, and Robb nearly gagged at the overwhelming scent of human waste. The flies were as thick as the smoke inside. A cat scurried across their path with a big, fat rat dangling from its mouth. They stopped when they were far enough down that the sounds of the bar patrons had faded into a muffled buzz.

Robb trained his gun on the stranger. “Where are the others?”

“Others?”

“Your gang?” There didn’t seem to be many places to hide, aside from the piles of trash, but perhaps they were lurking on the rooftops, waiting for the word from their leader to strike.

The Ursine man raised his arms far apart. “It’s just me, I’m afraid.”

“A lone mercenary?” Jon asked.

“I don’t consider myself a mercenary, though I could see where you’d think that.” He pulled his hood back, revealing a grizzled face and a slightly elongated snout. “My name is Jorah Mormont.”

“Mormont?” Robb repeated. “Your family swore an oath to mine.”

He gave a curt nod. “You are a Stark?”

“Robb Stark. Oldest son of Eddard Stark. And you…” He tried to remember, but the name wasn’t ringing any bells to him.

“You’re Joer Mormont’s son,” Jon spoke. “I served under him at the Night’s Watch headquarters before…” Before he’d been demoted and sent to Winterfell Station as punishment for an indiscretion with a smuggler. “He’s a good man.”

“What about you?” Robb said. “Are _you_ a good man?”

“I try.” His voice sounded weary, and there was something sad about his face, some hurt. Robb recognized it: Failure. He’d failed someone he loved as well.

“When was the last time you saw another Kraken?” Robb nodded towards Asha. “We’re looking for her brother. He was in the company of a Canid by the name of Ramsay Bolton. We have reason to believe he was looking for someone named Vargo Hoat.”

Jorah shook his head. “If your friend is tangled with the likes of Vargo Hoat, there won’t be much of him left by the time you find him.”

“Please,” Robb begged. “If you know something, you have to tell us.”

“We’ll pay you,” Asha added. “Whatever your price.”

Jorah held up a hand. “It’s not about my price.”

“Then what? What do you want?”

“I want to warn you. Don’t go looking for Vargo Hoat. He left Yunkai a week ago, took his ‘Brave Companions’ with him. There was a job to be done on Mereen. He was impressed with his new employer, and Vargo is not easily impressed. I don’t know if this employer is the man you’re looking for, but if he is…” He shook his head again. “I think it best you return home and assume your friend is already dead.”


	9. The Kraken Initiative V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for threats and shit-talking.

“…believe it when I thee it.”

Theon only caught the tail end as he delivered the tray to Ramsay and his new friends. He didn’t like the look of them. One of them—a ratty-eared Canid missing the end of his snout—kept _looking_ at him and smiling. Theon did his best to ignore him and went about setting out the drinks Ramsay had requested.

“We’ve been here a week now,” the Caprican continued, idly taking his mug from Theon’s hand, “and we’ve yet to thee a thingle credit of thith payment you’re offering.”

Ramsay breathed in through his nose, the way he did when he was frustrated. As Theon came around the table with the rest of the drinks, Ramsay grabbed hold of his wrist and yanked him into his lap. The tray and its contents fell to the floor in a clatter.

“See this?” He pulled Theon’s shirt up. “That’s your money, in there.”

He hated being so exposed, but he didn’t dare shrink away. Even when their eyes were on him.

“Well…” One of the Equines pulled a wickedly curved blade from his belt. “Do we need to cut it out of him or what?”

Ramsay pulled Theon against his chest, arms wrapped around him protectively. “You need to wait. What he’s growing inside will pay for our ship and your first payment. But it’s an investment and it will take time.” He glared at the Caprican. “Tell your man to put his knife away. And if he ever threatens my Reek again, I’ll tear his throat out.”

The Caprican nodded to the Equine, who sheathed his blade. “My apologieth,” he slurred.

“I’ll take my payment early,” the Canid who’d been eying him spoke up. “In exchange for the money, you can give me a night with your…uh, wife.”

Theon felt a deep growl welling up from Ramsay’s throat. Luckily, the Caprican responded first.

“Now, we don’t want to rithk damaging the child, Rorge. Bethideth, ithn’t _he_ —” There was an awkward pause as he tried to figure out which pronoun to use “—a little…old for you?”

The fleshy remnants of Rorge’s nose flared. “I’ve lost my nose but not my sense of smell. And I can smell it on _her_.” He continued to leer. “She’s got a nice, tight twat between her legs. How tight do you think it’s going to be after she pushes this bastard’s pups out?”

Ramsay sprang to his feet, fast enough that Theon was flung against the counter. “I don’t want this man on my crew,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Tell him that if he wants to keep what’s left of his nose, he’ll keep it away from my Reek.”

Rorge stood as well. “Oh, making demands of us already? And all your money still in the bank, so to speak?”

“Rorge,” the Caprican sighed, stroking his beard, “thit down or I’ll let him kill you.”

“You wound me,” Rorge said with a broad smile. “You think this mutt could kill me? He’s big, I’ll give him that. Doesn’t make him any good with a weapon.” He reached for a switchblade in his belt. “How about it? You and me, knives only. We’ll let our blades talk.”

The Caprican shook his head.

“It would be my pleasure to kill you,” Ramsay said, striding forward.

“Oh, the pleasure will be all mine,” Rorge said.

“Reek,” Ramsay spat. “Grab the knife out of the top drawer. You know the one.”

He did know the one. He was only too glad to be farther away from Rorge. There was a wobbly nightstand by the bed, where Ramsay could get to his weapon easily in the middle of the night, should the need arise. As Theon reached for it, a sudden thought came to him. He could use it on Ramsay. All he would need was one good opening, and he could make it count if Ramsay wasn’t expecting it. Even if the others killed him afterwards, at least Robb wouldn’t be in danger anymore.

“First thing I’m going to do after you’re dead,” Rorge said, “is cut your ugly wife’s belly open and fuck her in the pussy. If we lose a little money, so what? We’ll make it back by whoring her out.”

Theon grabbed the weapon and ran back to Ramsay.

“What do you think is a fair asking price?” Rorge continued, waving his switchblade around. “Twenty credits a fuck? Fifteen? Going to have to pass her around a lot to make any sort of profit.”

“I think you should shut your gods damned mouth.” Ramsay took the weapon from Theon’s hand.

“Can we at leatht do thith outside?”

Ramsay lifted the weapon and fired. The laser went straight between Rorge’s eyes, so fast and so clean that the smell of burning fur had enveloped the room before his body even hit the ground. Everyone stood stunned as Ramsay walked around the table and gave the cooling corpse a swift kick. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Bringing a gun to a knife fight?” The Caprican raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem disgusted, or even particularly surprised.

“He was threatening my Reek.”

“Oh, no, no.” The Caprican held up his hands, as if to prove he was unarmed. “Perfectly underthandtable.”

“Fucker had it coming,” the Equine opined.

“We are thtill interethted in your offer, by the way.”

“Good. You’ll get paid when I get the return on my investment.” He nodded to Theon, who still had the smoking gun in his hand. “Just tell your men to keep their hands to themselves.”


	10. The Kraken Initiative VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply.

“Hiring?” Jon repeated.

“That’s our in,” Robb said, leaning forward. “Well, _my_ in, at least.”

The galley aboard the _Sea Bitch_ was made to fit a crew of twenty or more. With just the three of them, it felt like a farce to take their meals here, but Robb had been hesitant about heading into bars after what Jorah had told them. It was bad enough that they were risking Asha’s safety. He didn’t also need Jon’s safety to be in question. And Jorah had warned him that there would be more people on Mereen who recognized a Draconian on scent alone.

“Now wait a minute.” Asha stood to make herself known. “Who says _you_ get to be in charge?”

“For one? Vargo isn’t hiring any women onto his crew.”

Asha’s face was aghast. “Of all the backwards…”

Jon gave her a dubious look, as if to indicate that she should consider her own culture first.

“Secondly, what do you think they’ll do if they find out you’re a Kraken? Or you?” He turned to Jon. “What if Jorah’s right and they know you on sight?” He didn’t want to contemplate that. “I’m the only one who can meet with them alone.”

“Why do you have to be alone?” Jon demanded. “Why do you have to meet them at all? Can’t the three of us meet this Vargo character in private and do to him what we did to Kraznys?”

“I don’t know how many men he’ll have with him. I trust your fighting ability, both of you, but I’d rather not test it in this case. I’ve already passed my name—er, my pseudonym, at least—along to some of my contacts. He’ll only speak with me in person. It’s the easiest way to get close to him.”

“And then what?” Asha asked. “Say you infiltrate this gang and somehow find Ramsay Bolton in the process. What’s your plan on getting my brother out of there? We’ll still be outnumbered. And Ramsay will recognize you on sight, if not sooner. No way he’ll let you within twenty feet of Theon.”

“I just need to find where he’s keeping Theon for the moment,” Robb said. Honestly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. This Vargo Hoat was a tenuous link, but it seemed to be growing stronger by the day. One of his contacts had let slip that the Brave Companions were, in fact, on Mereen and under the employ a mysterious, wealthy man from out of system, rumored to be a full-blooded human. Ramsay wasn’t fully human, but he looked it, on the surface. No mention of a Kraken, or where this man might be hanging out.

“I don’t like it,” Jon said, flapping his wings in agitation. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’m not going to get myself killed,” Robb said with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Starks aren’t as easy to kill as you think we are.”

 

***

 

Vargo Hoat looked enough like his picture that Robb recognized him at the back of the bar. As he made his way to the table, he looked around for potential allies in case things got hairy. That was the perk of meeting in a public place like this—plenty of rapscallions eager to join in a good bar fight.

Vargo was a tough old goat, pun notwithstanding. One of his horns had been broken off, and even though he’d filed the rough edges down, it still looked like he’d chosen the wrong person to fight with, once upon a time. A big chunk of his goat-ear was missing, probably lost in the same fight. He had a somewhat elongated snout like a goat and the strange sideway pupils that Capricans tended to have. His pointed beard could have been human or goat, it was difficult to tell which side of the genetic spectrum he’d taken that from.

He had two henchmen with him, an overweight Equine and cadaverous-looking Simian who fidgeted constantly with the rosary around his neck. Robb suspected there were others waiting in the wings, but he wouldn’t know them until they decided to attack. He would have to convince them there was no need for that.

“Red Wolf?” Vargo curled his lip into a sneer. He gestured for Robb to have a seat. “You can tell uth your name.” He had a terrible lisp. “Your real name.”

“I gave up my birth name.” Robb had practiced this routine in the mirror enough times that it sounded rehearsed and twice-told, but that was a good thing for the weary mercenary persona Asha had constructed for him. “Family, friends…they all turned their backs on me. I’m Red Wolf now.”

“Stupid name,” the Equine grunted.

But Vargo just grinned. “That’th fine. What ith a name, after all?” He again motioned for Robb to sit.

As Robb took the chair across from Vargo, a beam of light flashed in his face. In an instant, Robb was back on his feet, snarling at the Simian, who was flicking through the pictures he’d taken.

“Jutht a little background check,” Vargo said. “We’ll run your picture againtht our database.” His sideway eyes were unblinking. “You theem a bit uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t give you permission.”

“It’th thtandard for all my men.”

Robb held his breath as the Simian stared at the screen on his tablet. “Robb Stark,” he said in a raspy voice. “Prime of Winterfell.”

“Where the hell ith Winterfell?”

“Small station in the Ursa-Lyca System. Seems he went AWOL several months ago.”

Robb didn’t like this, but maybe he could go with the flow. “I was sick of that life. Does your database tell you about how my fiancée left me about a cycle ago, or that I was charged with infractions on a case I was helping investigate?” He turned his head and spat. “I have no love for that station, and I’d rather die than go back to Lyca.”

“What bringth you to the Thlavers Thythtem?”

Robb had to bite his cheek from laughing at how utterly Vargo butchered that line. He schooled his face. “I’ve tried working on that side of the law. I’m sick of standing back and watching others take what they want. I think it’s time _I_ took what _I_ wanted.”

Vargo smiled. “Noble. However, and do forgive my thkepticithm, you do not theem to have much exthperienth with thith thort of…work.”

Robb was mentally translating that sentence in his head—skepticism, experience, this sort of work.

“Everyone needs to get their start somewhere.”

Vargo conferred with his two cronies. The Equine seemed incapable of speaking in a whisper, though, because Robb could hear everything he said. Unfortunately, the conversation took place in some language he couldn’t follow. They seemed to be debating.

“Very well,” Vargo said after a while. “You’re welcome to join uth on a trial run. We jutht rethently lotht a man—” _We just recently lost a man,_ Robb’s mind translated. “—and are looking for thome…exthtra help on our latestht mission.”

“What’s the mission?”

“A sixth-month thign-on for a thpathe-faring crew.” _A six-month sign-on for a spacefaring crew. Got it_.

“Who’s signing us?”

“Kid,” the Equine snorted, “the first thing you learn is this business is not to question who’s paying your salary.”

“I just always thought it wise to know where my money is coming from,” Robb answered bluntly.

Vargo laughed at that. “A good mind for money, thith one. Don’t fear. We have every reathon to exthpect our new commissioner to pay up. He payth uth, we pay you. Conthidering you do your work thatisthfactorily.”

_Satisfactorily_ , Robb translated before realizing what he meant. “And if I’m not satisfactory?”

Vargo grinned. The Equine grinned. Even the Simian grinned. “Then you won’t have to worry about anyone _paying_ you ever again.”


	11. The Kraken Initiative VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings not only for creepy Ramsay, as always, but also because this is the mpregiest of the mpreg chapters. Also, apologies in advance for the abrupt ending.

They made their way through the market, Ramsay with effortless strides, Theon stumbling and constantly readjusting his hood. The cloak did well to conceal his Kraken features but not so much the bump that preceded him a great deal these days. He could barely walk, let alone keep up with Ramsay’s pace. Eventually, Ramsay became so frustrated that he simply lifted Theon, bump and all, and carried him like a child in his arms.

“I like taking you out.” Ramsay leaned his head against Theon’s as they walked, seemingly not paying attention to where they were going. “If it weren’t so dangerous—if they didn’t want to take you away from me so badly—I’d do it more often. I like showing you off like this. Let them see what we’ve made together.”

Theon shuddered and pulled his hood tighter, but he could still feel eyes on him. He hated having to rely on Ramsay for protection, but the incident with Rorge had demonstrated how much he truly needed it.

There was a doctor’s office not far from their place. Not an established doctor’s office, since the man obviously wouldn’t set up shop in this system if he was legitimately cleared to practice any sort of medicine. Theon did not like the man, but Ramsay trusted him. And Ramsay had a more vested interest in the delivery of healthy children than Theon did. The office was in the basement level beneath a known black market dealer—half the doctor’s equipment came from here. The harsh winds of Mereen had battered the building’s outside, while on the inside, old-fashioned negligence had driven everything into a state of disrepair.

Ramsay ducked as he carried Theon through the door, breaking off a bit of dry wall as his head didn’t quite clear the frame. He flinched protectively over Theon, even though only a loose bit of dust fell on them. He shook it off and continued into the doctor’s office.

There was no reception area, no waiting room. Just the good doctor working at his desk and the table where Theon was expected to sit while he was prodded at. The doctor looked up as they entered and hurried over to the table to pull out the stirrups. Ramsay hoisted Theon onto the table’s hard surface and helped him put a leg in either stirrup. Theon hated that, the way he was on his back and also angled up for everyone to see. His cloak and loose-fitted gown rode up his knees, allowing the stale air access to his bare parts beneath.

“How has he been?” the doctor asked, speaking to Ramsay as if Theon weren’t even in the room with them. Or perhaps he thought of himself as a vet for Ramsay’s pet.

“His appetite’s been off,” Ramsay said, pulling up a stool.

“You’ve been giving him balanced meals?”

“I’ve been giving him rice twice a day.”

The doctor tsk’d. Theon had never met a doctor who didn’t tsk.

“He needs fresh produce and protein.” He took a moment to scroll through his tablet, perhaps consulting articles on Kraken maternity. “Seaweed and fish are highly recommended. Iron as well, to keep the anemia at bay.” He set the tablet aside and turned to Theon, addressing him for the first time. “Any pain, soreness, swelling, spotting, bleeding?”

His back and feet were in constant pain; his nipples were sore; his ankles swelled whenever he stood for too long; his didn’t know what spotting was; Ramsay hadn’t made him bleed in several months. “No,” he answered softly.

“Good, good. Well…” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s have a look at our kiddos, eh.”

Theon always turned his head away when the doctor brought out the 3D imaging ultrasound. He didn’t like seeing the things in his stomach, hearing the sounds of their nervous and vasculatory systems, knowing there was something living and growing inside him. He didn’t want to know what they looked like, whether they took after him or Ramsay. He didn’t want to know their sexes. He didn’t want to know what would happen to them once they were out. He didn’t want to know anything about them.

That didn’t stop him from hearing as Ramsay and the doctor conversed.

“They’re developing quite well. It looks like they both have gills at the moment, but they may close up after birth. The girl, especially, since she’s obviously more Canid than the boy.”

“But not too Canid,” Ramsay said, almost nervously. He would be worried about getting the full sum for a child that was too mundane looking.

“She’ll have a tail, looks like. She or her brother might develop fur as they mature, but there’s no way to predict that sort of thing without a full-on genetic spectrograph. As to skin color…the 3D imaging gives us a false color. We’ll have to wait until the actual birth to find out. Speaking of which…” Something rattled. “I think it’s time to schedule a C-section.”

“What?” Ramsay sound offended. “Absolutely not. We’re going for a natural birth.”

Ramsay grasped for Theon’s hand and held it tight, as if this were something they had agreed upon together. In truth, no such thing had ever been discussed, and Theon had always assumed Ramsay would want the children out as soon as they could be guaranteed to breathe on their own. Quicker to collect his money that way.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” The doctor came back into Theon’s field of vision, only to disappear again between his legs. “Come, look at this.” Ramsay went to join him, and Theon let his head loll backwards. He studied the cracks in the ceiling overhead to keep his mind off the cold finger sliding over the outside of his slit. “Whatever metamorphosis he underwent, it was imperfect. The birth canal is too narrow, especially for the girl. The boy might be able to make it out, but the girl would cause significant damage. There’s a very real risk that you could lose one child or both _or_ the…ahem, mother.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“Then you agree that a Caesarian is the best option?”

Ramsay came around the other side of the table. He was pale, paler than Theon had ever seen him. “I don’t like the thought of you cutting my Reek apart.”

“It’s a low-risk procedure,” the doctor said, coming to stand on the other side. “There may be a small scar from the laser suturing we do afterwards, and chances of the patient dying during the procedure are so small as to be insignificant. We may not have the most cutting-edge technology in this system, but I’ve never had a patient die from this procedure.”

Ramsay gripped Theon’s hand again, nearly crushing it. “Very well. Let’s make an appointment. But I was so looking forward to the look of exquisite pain on your face as you pushed our creations into the world through your freak body.” He leaned in close so that his breath was hot against Theon’s cheek. “Imagine, our babes at your breast, one on either teat, while I fill you with the next batch. Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

“Heavens no,” the doctor answered before the whole horror of Ramsay’s suggestion had washed over Theon. “The C-section will leave your…wife unable to have intercourse for at least a few days, and even then, I would not recommend getting him pregnant again anytime soon.”

“You wouldn’t _recommend_ it?” Ramsay sneered.

“It would put tremendous strain on his body. He’d be more likely to die of complications than actually carry another pregnancy to term.”

When Theon looked up, Ramsay’s face had gone dark. “Are you saying I can never breed him again?”

“Not necessarily. I’m just saying to go slow. I, personally, wouldn’t risk it. That you’ve managed to bring the first pregnancy this far is amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we’ve reached the end of what I had written. Here’s a vague outline for what I had originally envisioned for the ending: 
> 
> Robb is able to infiltrate Vargo’s gang, but of course Ramsay recognizes him and flips his shit. Seeing Robb in danger gives Theon the push to act against his fear and uncertainty, and the two manage to escape on foot as Ramsay and Vargo’s men give chase. And, because why not add another layer of cliché and tension, Theon goes into labor. Luckily, Asha arrives with the Kraken warship. Vargo and his men turn tail and run; Ramsay admonishes them as cowards right before the warship drops on top of him, squishing him flat. Theon survives with the help of the medical technology aboard the ship, as do the two children. I hadn’t figured out what to do with them yet, but I figure Theon is not in a place physically or mentally to care for them, even if he wanted to. Jon would probably find a good orphanage or the like that specializes in hybrid children.
> 
> By the way, this fic is up for adoption for anybody who wants it. You certainly don't have to use my ending.
> 
> Up next: a quick one-shot. After the Greyjoy Rebellion, both Asha and Theon end up headed for Winterfell, and the reason might surprise you.


	12. A Brother's Iron Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the unfinished first chapter of a five-chapter-ish fic based on _A Brother's Price_ , by Wen Spencer. If you haven't read it, first of all, I highly recommend it. It's set in a world where men are rare and hold a lot of value for political trading. Although this particular fic is set in roughly canon Westeros, it follows Spencer's society where clans share a husband among multiple sisters and the head of the clan is the eldest sister. For instance, in this case, Castellan Tully-Stark is married to House Stark (Brynda, Benja, Edda, and Lyanna, with Brynda being Eldest Stark). Some characters are genderbent, others aren't.

The day Asha became Eldest was also the day she left Pyke.

She stood on the deck, watching her home slowly, _slowly_ recede as the ship departed for the mainland. They had been underway for several hours now, but it still felt like she could jump overboard and swim back. What would happen then? What would they do?

“Asha.”

The small sniffling made her look over her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be up here by yourself, Theon.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I-I woke up and you weren’t…” Theon wiped at his face, knocking his veil askew.

Asha sighed and abandoned her spot at the rail. Of course, just as she was wondering why she shouldn’t jump, he had to come along and remind her why she couldn’t. She knelt down and readjusted his veil. “It’s alright, little brother. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded; it was difficult to tell if he was looking at her or not.

“Hey now.” She clamped a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m Eldest Greyjoy now, and it’s my job to look after you. So that’s what I’m going to do, alright? Now, it’s pretty cold up here, isn’t it? Let’s get you back to our room.”

He nodded again and she gave his shoulder a squeeze.

They’d been given their own quarters, so Asha supposed she should be grateful for small miracles. The Northwomen they passed on their way down to these quarters, however, remained a stark reminder that neither Greyjoy was a guest on this ship. Cold stares followed them until Asha could close the door and bolt it behind her.

“Can I take the veil off now?”

Asha nodded and Theon yanked the head wrapping off, revealing his head of unruly hair. The Northwomen had discussed if it was truly necessary that he wear it.

_“He’s only nine, hardly more than a babe. Surely no one would—”_

_“I’d rather not take the chance. Unless you wish to face Lady Stark’s wrath.”_

Asha, for one, had no wish to face Lady Stark’s wrath. When the castle had fallen, it wasn’t Queen Robin she remembered, with her warhammer covered in gore. It wasn’t Berra Dondarrian with her flaming sword, or even Cersei Lannister with her golden armor. No, it was Edda Stark’s grim face, her cold, gray eyes. The woman who was her warden now, who could have her head taken off with a single word.

From his bed, Theon sniffled and wiped at his nose. Asha looked at him.

 _Right_ , she thought. Not just her warden, but her good-mother. In good time. Edda Stark had gotten two things from the Greyjoys: a hostage and a husband for her gaggle of redheaded children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of plans for this one, but could just never get it off the ground. In the end, I think it was the juggling of two established worlds plus my own worldbuilding that kept adding too much cumbersome exposition to the story. It was largely going to be Asha's story, about her unlikely friendship and budding romance with Eldest Stark the younger, Robin. And, of course, a reappearance of Rawley Bolton. Oh, and Joanna Snow, who is Lyanna's child by another clan's husband (scandalous).
> 
> Up next: The first two chapters of an unnamed fic.


	13. Bloodlines I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the prologue for a steampunk-type fic where each of the Houses of Westeros has their own special brand of blood magic, called a Bloodline. I might yet turn this into a full fic.

The west wall damaged, fire threatening the neighboring village and its several hundred acres of farmland, and an inconsolable wife. “ _Please_ tell me you have some good news for me,” Eddard Stark sighed as his captain of the guard approached.

“My Lord, My Lady.” Rodrik Cassel took to his knee. “Counts are still being tallied, but it appears we suffered ten fatalities—nine civilians and one guard who took a blade to the chest chasing after the pirates.”

Catelyn gripped the armrests of her throne, making her knuckles stand out white against her skin. “Monsters,” she muttered. No one hated pirates more than Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell Island. No one had more _reason_ to hate them.

“They…” Cassel paused and seemed to be studying his boots with renewed interest. “They escaped, My Lady. We gave chase, but they…” He trailed off.

Ned feared his wife would break either her hands or the armrest; he was not sure which would give first. “ _Any_ good news, Rodrik?” he prompted.

Cassel got to his feet. “We…were able to capture one, My Lord. Alive.”

Ned nodded and dropped his hand. It wasn’t good news, per se, but it was something. “Bring them in.”

Two guards came in carrying a shell-shocked young man between them. And he was young, hardly much older than Robb, Ned guessed, so not really a man at all. The boy’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the court, the banners on the wall, and, finally, Lord and Lady Stark themselves seated on the raised dais. He didn’t so much as struggle as he was thrown to the ground, stumbling, landing on his knees.

One of the guards found it necessary to level his sword at the nape of the boy’s neck, but Cassel grabbed hold of the man’s arm and forced him to lower his blade. “Careful, you don’t want to cut that one.”

Ned considered that. “Greyjoy?” he asked.

The boy looked up, eyes wide, jaw clamped tight.

“You’re a Greyjoy?” Ned repeated. “You have the Greyjoy Bloodline?”

The boy nodded. So, not just any random pirate, but one of their leaders. Though the boy had probably not been leading anyone. Most likely his first raid.

Catelyn stood. “I won’t have a Greyjoy in my home,” she said with a vicious cutting motion of her hand. “Take him, Rodrik. Take him and throw him off the edge of the Island. Feed him into the Core.”

The boy looked stricken at her words, as well he might. “Please.” His first words. He clasped his hands together and bent his head to meet the tiles of the floor. “Please don’t drop me over the edge. M-my father will pay you for my return. He’ll return everything he stole, I swear it.”

“Can he return the lives he stole?” Catelyn hissed. “Can he undo the damage he’s done to our crops? Can he bring my father back? No, if your father is a Greyjoy, then he has nothing to offer that we will accept. I want this wretch out of my sight, Rodrik. I don’t care what cliffside you choose, but do it and do it now.”

“Calm yourself, Cat.” Ned placed a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. “You sound like your sister.”

That, at least, caught her attention. “I’m not fond of it,” she said. The tension in her shoulder gave way, faintly. “I wouldn’t call for such a barbaric execution, but he _cannot_ be allowed to draw blood, Ned. My father underestimated the Greyjoy Bloodline, and you know what that earned him.”

“I…I’ve never used my Bloodline to hurt anyone, My Lady.” The boy didn’t dare raise his head, so his voice was muffled into the ground. “I’ve never…I didn’t…I’m no pirate, no true pirate. That’s why they left me behind, My Lady.”

“More lies and platitudes,” Catelyn said.

Ned was inclined to agree. How quickly the boy changed his tune. _My father will pay anything to have me_ back to _My father left me behind_. Not that Ned could blame him. No one knew just how long a person fell before the Core’s fire finally grew hot enough to kill, but by some estimates, it could be hours. Truly a horrific fate for one so young.

“Rodrik,” he said.

The captain of the guard snapped to attention. “My Lord.”

“Bring me my sword.”

The boy slumped on the ground in defeat, burying his face in the crook of his arm. Ned could hear muffled sobbing as Rodrik hurried to fetch the weapon that would end the boy’s life. As a father, it tugged on his heart, but truly, this was the kinder option.

“Ned,” Catelyn hissed. “You can’t.”

“I can swing fast and true,” he said. “He will not have a chance to use his Bloodline.”

The boy sobbed harder.

Clipped footsteps ran down the hall, too light and quick to be Cassel returning with the sword. Ned frowned when, a moment later, the runner rounded the corner to reveal his eldest son. Robb froze in the doorway to the throne room, clearly caught off-guard by the lords and ladies of the court all gathered here.

“Father.” He took a step forward, then stopped again when he saw the other boy on the floor. The Greyjoy boy lifted his head, and for a moment their eyes met. Robb stared at him, swallowed thickly, then turned back to Ned. “Father, what…?”

“Out!” Catelyn cried. “Out, right now. This boy is dangerous. You shouldn’t be here. I told you to—”

 “I saw Rodrik getting your sword,” Robb interrupted. “You’re not…going into battle, are you?” Then, more softly, “Again?”

Catelyn clicked her tongue. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“She’s right, Robb. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll talk later.”

“My Lord.”

Ned looked up, as did Catelyn and Robb, at Cassel’s return. The greatsword that Ned had inherited from his father, and his grandfather before that, was too large to be carried single-handed. Cassel held it draped across his forearms, held out.

“Bring it here,” Ned instructed.

The pirate boy clambered to his knees. “Please, My Lord, please. You can send me away. I promise, you’ll never see me again.”

Robb watched this, then Cassel bringing the sword. “Wait, you’re not going to…”

“He’s a pirate, Robb,” Catelyn said.

Robb’s eyes went wide. “But…just a little one.”

“He was with the raiders who attacked the village,” Ned explained. “If we let him go, he’ll raid again.”

“No, I won’t,” the boy pleaded. “I promise I won’t.”

“Can’t you just…lock him up?” Robb insisted.

“Oh, my boy,” Catelyn sighed. She gathered up her skirts and hurried down the steps towards Robb. At eleven years old, his mother had to stoop to put her hands on his shoulders, but she turned him away easily. “I know these things bother you,” she said, just soft enough that the court would not hear her. “Don’t watch. Go to your room and wait. We’ll talk about all that’s happened today…later.”

Normally Ned would have him watch an official execution. The boy would be holding plenty of his own when he became the ruler of Winterfell Island. It was necessary to help him understand that sentencing a man to death with your words was different than sentencing him to death with your sword. _The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword_ , as his own father had told him.

But what if it was no man on the chopping block, but a child? No, he didn’t object as Catelyn began to lead Robb away.

Rodrik took the first few steps up the dais and held the greatsword out. Ned stepped down to meet him and wrapped his hand around the hilt. The blade slid from the sheath with a hiss.

The pirate boy struggled to get to his feet, only to he wrestled back to the ground by the guards who’d escorted him in. He cried out as his arms were wrenched behind his back. “Please, My Lord! I-I can serve you. My Bloodline could be of use to you. I’ll be your servant. I-I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“Robb!”

All eyes turned to see Robb break from his mother’s grip and come running back. “Don’t do it!” He threw himself between the boy and the sword, arms held out wide. “Please, Father. I’ll take him on as my servant. I’ll Bind him.”

Everyone was silent.

Catelyn spoke first. “No.”

Ned looked down at his son, and to his pride, Robb looked right back.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” Ned asked.

Robb’s eyes—blue, like his mother’s—were fierce. “Yes.”

“No,” Catelyn said again.

“This cannot be undone. He will be Bound to you until he dies. He will be your responsibility from this day on.”

“I know.”

“I forbid it!” Catelyn made to grab Robb, pull him back, but Ned pinned her with his gaze.

“It’s not for you to forbid,” he said.

She froze, met him with her own fierce gaze. Then stood down, chin tilted towards the floor. She was Queen of Winterfell, but also a Tully by birth. This was not Winterfell business, but Stark business. And Bloodlines always won out.

Ned re-sheathed his sword and stepped forward. Knelt down to be at the pirate boy’s level. “My son wants to spare your life,” he said, slowly. The boy stared up at him, raptly nodding his head to every word. “He has offered to Bind you to him. Do you know what that means, son?”

The boy’s mouth fell open. “I…I think so?” He didn’t sound too sure. And he needed to know, needed to know what he was accepting in exchange for his life.

“I’m sure the Greyjoys know about the Stark Bloodline. What have you heard?”

“I heard you…you can control people and…animals…by taking their blood.”

Ned frowned. “In a sense, yes. Any creature that mingles its blood with a Stark’s is bound to that man’s will. It cannot disobey its master’s command, whatever it may be.”

The boy’s eyes went wide.

“You understand, then? You will become my son’s thrall. You will serve and protect him for the rest of your days. Should you fail, should the one who Bound you die…you will die as well. Once done, it cannot be undone. It is not something to accept lightly.”

The boy swallowed. “Accept…?”

“We do not force a Bond on any human,” Ned said. “Your blood is not something to give lightly, but it must be given freely. Such are our laws.” He softened his voice.  “And in your case, the alternative is a sword on the back of your neck.” He allowed his face to become sympathetic. “Perhaps not much of a choice, but a choice nonetheless. So, what do you say, Greyjoy? Will you give your life to my son?”


	14. Bloodlines II

“Theon, you’re back!”

Robb flung himself at Theon, but Theon was quicker. In a flash, he had Robb up against the wall, pinned, and attacked his neck. He laved kisses onto the soft skin there while Robb laughed and ran his fingers through Theon’s hair.

“You’re back early.”

Theon pulled away. “Had to get back in time for your birthday.” He captured Robb’s lips. “I got you something.”

“Yeah?”

“Something I know you’ll like.”

Robb smirked. He _thought_ he knew. And, yes, there was _that_ , but Theon considered himself a gentleman. A good, hard fucking wasn’t a birthday present; it was just par. And, honestly, the way Robb’s hands slid down to his hips had him seriously doubting he would even make it to Robb’s birthday.

“Your room,” he muttered. “Now.”

They shouldn’t be doing this in the hallway in any case. Lady Stark would throw a fit. And his life was as much in her hands as it was in Robb’s.

Robb grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him along. They fairly ran to his room and locked the door behind them.


	15. Soul Marked I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epic ending to Soul Marked. Comes before the epilogue.

He had been the Ghost of Winterfell, and now, it appeared, he was the Ghost of the Wall as well. Wandering unseen among the war preparations, wondering what had brought him here. Well, yes, _here_ , but also to this place on the catwalk.

He supposed he had taken it into his head to peer over the edge of the Wall. But once outside, he realized, once again, how tall it truly was, a massive edifice reaching so far up that he could hardly see the sky from his vantage point. He would never be able to climb the stairs, and he dare not ask anyone for a ride in the lift—he was surely not worth the effort.

He had never before been curious about the Wall, always thought it was more of an excuse to be rid of people than any sort of bastion of humanity. He had always scoffed at Benjen Stark’s stories that seemed to enrapture Jon so much. Now, he shuddered at the stories Jon had told him, of bodies rising from the dead, of creatures who had been sleeping in the ice. Of the Long Night. He did not doubt Jon for one minute.

Down below, in the courtyard, men teemed about, wearing the black of the Night’s Watch, the mismatched furs of the Wilding clans, the twin banners of Winterfell and the Eyrie, or the flaming hart of Stannis Baratheon. They all believed the Long Night was coming too.

The lift was coming down, and Theon watched it. Caught a glimpse of color amidst the falling snow—Stannis’s Red Woman. Her hair and dress flapped in the wind. She was still very far up, and yet Theon somehow felt like she was staring straight at him. A shudder ran through his body. It was as if he could feel her eyes on him.

The Wildlings spoke in hushed and frightened tones of the woman who fed babies into her fires, who had killed “Mance Rayder”—only for the King Beyond the Wall to mysteriously reappear riding at Sansa’s side once Winterfell had been retaken, looking much the worse for wear from his time in Ramsay’s care.

 _Ramsay is dead_ , Theon thought, feeling his thumb, the broken red line hidden under his glove. Details were scarce, but Theon could put the picture together in his mind. The assuredness Ramsay must have felt as he’d led his army out onto the snowy plain to meet Stannis’s inferior forces—the might of the North, save a few defected Houses, against a ragtag hired army. It should have been a slaughter.

Theon could picture the moment his arrogance had turned to surprise. Perhaps it was the sound first, a great snap as the ice that lay hidden under their feet broke apart. Or perhaps it had been someone’s yell as they were swallowed up, horse and all, into the frigid depths. Ramsay was cunning, yes, frightfully so in his own way, but he was not smart. He would not have understood at first, the trap Stannis had drawn him out onto, as one by one, or perhaps in large sweeping swaths, his men met similar fates.

For sure Theon knew that he had realized what was happening in time to flee with the others, back towards the safety of solid ground. Only to be met with the Knights of Vale, who made handy work of the survivors. Ramsay had taken a mortal wound to his gut, and might have died an anonymous death with the rest of his men, had he not managed to crawl halfway back to Winterfell. One of Sansa’s men, misguided by mercy, had granted him a clean death, not knowing who he was and what he had done. It had been a Manderly who recognized the dead man and took his head to return to Sansa Stark, the new Lady of Winterfell. She had tried to comfort both Theon and Jeyne by saying his head remained mounted on a pike outside Winterfell’s gates.

Theon could not speak for Jeyne, though he suspected she gained as little comfort from the fact as he did.

He thought of Ramsay’s last minutes, how he had clawed his way across the barren field, ripping his gloves and then the nails from his fingers after that. Had he begged for his life when the knight had drawn his sword? What had gone through his head? Had he thought of Reek?

He blinked, still thinking of red as he felt a presence behind him. He turned to the Red Woman and flinched. Instinctively, he looked to the lift. It was docked, the cage empty. Of course. How long had he been daydreaming? He had not heard her approach.

She was tall, taller than Theon if he had been able to bring himself to his full height. Her dress was the color of freshly spilled blood, her hair more vibrant. Her tanned skin had the paleness of winter, giving her a decidedly corpselike appearance as she studied him. She did not look at him with disgust, but rather like he was an object she was appraising. Theon would have welcomed her disgust.

“Theon Greyjoy.” Her voice was deep and sonorous, and a knowing smile stretched her lips.

He nodded to acknowledge her, quickly, then looked away. But she grabbed his chin and forced his gaze back. Her hand was searingly hot. Theon went rigid at the unexpected touch.

“Have you heard the story of Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa?”

Her voice held the same quality as Ramsay’s had: _When I ask a question, I expect you to answer it. Is that clear, Reek_?

Theon shook his head, as best he could with her hand holding it in place.

Her eyes flicked downwards. He wasn’t sure where—his panicked mind said, _She knows you’re not a man_ —but she simply said, “Remove your glove,” and released her hold on him.

To his shame, the thought never occurred to disobey her. He was Reek again, quick to please. He slowly tugged off his glove—no need for her to specify which one—and held out his shaking hand for her to inspect. Which she did, tracing his remaining fingers with her own warm ones. All of her rings were red, all but one broken.

“You can see them?” he asked.

She seemed surprised at first, but then a smile quirked at her lips. “The Lord of Light has given me the gift to see many things.” Her eyes narrowed, like a bemused cat’s. “Tell me, Lord Greyjoy, how did you manage to escape Stannis’s camp?”

Theon swallowed around the dryness in his mouth. “My sister stole a horse for us.”

“Hmmm. Your sister, yes.”

Theon did not like the contemplative look on her face.

“You were slated for my fires,” she went on.

Theon already knew that and did not react.

But perhaps she was not looking for a reaction, because she was not even looking at him, but rather his hand. Her fingers prodded his middle finger, the unbroken pink ring there. “But perhaps it was the Lord’s will you escaped and that I should meet you here, at the Wall, instead. The things I have been seeing in my fire as of late…” She trailed off, focused intently on his middle finger. “If you can see them as well, then you know you are tied to Jon Snow.”

Theon yanked his hand away. “If you plan on hurting him—”

“You are worried that I will tell the men,” she interrupted. “But you need not worry. Jon Snow is very important to the coming Long Night. I just find it odd that two of his soulmates are dead and one is unaccounted for. It seems you are the only one who remains, Theon Greyjoy.”

That was a sobering thought.

She drew her hand back to her side. “You should put your glove back on, Lord Greyjoy,” she said as she turned to go. “Your hand must be very cold.”

 

***

 

Theon bolted awake. There was someone in the room with him. The Red Woman? One of the Night’s Watch come to finish him? They had sent a noisy assassin, carrying a candle in one hand. He saw the face illuminated in its soft glow.

Sansa.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she said softly, setting the lamp on the stand by his cot.

His willed his breathing to slow. “It’s no trouble, m’lady.”

“I was speaking with Jeyne.” She sat down at the end of his cot, hands folded in her lap. “I never knew what happened to her after Father…” She trailed off. “Thank you, for helping her.”

What had Jeyne told her? No doubt she had made him seem much braver than he actually was if Sansa felt the need to thank him.

“I should have helped her sooner.” He looked down and realized he was not wearing any gloves. Sansa should not have to look at his mangled hands. He quickly shoved them under the threadbare sheets. “A real man would have.”

A thin smile appeared on Sansa’s lips. “She thinks of you as more than just a man.” She inched closer, hesitantly, feeling out his boundaries, or perhaps her own. “She thinks of you as a prince out of a storybook, just like we used to play when we were children.”

Theon could not meet her gaze. There was a time when he would have reveled in such flattery, but now it felt hollow, unearned.

He was startled when Sansa leaned in and cupped his head in her hands. “I have arranged for you and Jeyne to be taken to safety. I only ask that if the Long Night comes and the battle turns against us, you will continue to protect her.”

Theon lifted his head. “I promise it, my lady.”

 

***

 

Theon was less jumpy when he heard the knock on the door the next morning, sharp and official. He opened the door to see a long-faced man dressed in the black of the Night’s Watch. “The Lord Commander sent me to fetch your things,” he said flatly. This was the man with the unenviable task of escorting them to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, where they would catch a ship to take them and the remainder of the Wilding refugees south.

Theon spread his arms wide. “I’ve nothing but the clothes on my back.” Most of which could not be said to truly belong to him either. He’d arrived wearing on the rags he’d worn at the Dreadfort. He imagined that Jeyne, likewise, did not have much to pack.

The man shrugged. “That makes it easy. Come down to the courtyard when you’re ready.” Then the dolorous fellow left.

Theon sat on his cot for a moment, wondering who would come to see them off. Surely Jon was too busy, planning the defense of the Wall against the army of the dead. Sansa might come, for Jeyne’s sake if nothing else. But she would be staying here after they left. Even Sansa would stay to fight the Long Night, while he fled south with the women and children.

With a sigh, he stood and exited the room. As he turned to close the door behind him, he was suddenly yanked backwards. He felt strong hands on his shoulders, but when he opened his mouth to cry out, something was forced between his teeth. The gag pulled at his lips and muffled his screams as more hands grabbed him. Someone hissed, “Shhh!” into his ear. And then he was being pulled away down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II will be posted tomorrow.


	16. Soul Marked II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion!

Needless to say, Jon was wary of being summoned to a strange room by himself. Melisandre’s messenger had told him to come alone, but that was not going to happen.

“Satin,” he said, reaching for Long Claw, “Edd, you’re with me.”

Dolorous Edd, who had been the first to report Theon missing, checked the hidden dagger in his boot while Satin helped buckle Jon’s sword in place at his waist. “It seems an odd coincidence that the witch would want to speak with you so soon after your charge’s disappearance.”

Sansa stopped rubbing Jeyne’s back comfortingly and sat up straight. “Do you think she’s the reason Theon never showed this morning?”

“He wouldn’t run away,” Jeyne said, clinging to Sansa.

Sansa stood, and Jeyne stood with her. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Jon said. “It might be a trap.” His hand brushed absentmindedly over his chest. The scars on his back still ached, deep into his ribs and heart. “Stay here with Jeyne.”

“If it is Theon, I want to come too,” Jeyne said.

Jon could not disguise his surprise at that. Jeyne had been nothing but timid and silent since her arrival, eyes downcast, never speaking a word more than was needed. And even now, as he leveled his gaze at her, she looked away.

“S-sorry,” she murmured. “But I can’t leave without him.”

Jon looked at the two of them and made a quick decision. “Sansa, have two of your most trusted knights accompany you.”

She nodded.

Satin finished tying his belt. He felt better with his sword at his side. He would answer the Red Witch’s summon, but he would be damned if he was going to die again.

 

***

 

Jon genuinely had no idea what to expect as Sansa’s knights threw the doors open. With the Red Woman, it could be literally anything. Still, he was startled to find she had erected an altar of sorts—two wooden poles, sturdy, and shackled between them was Theon, arms spread wide. He had been stripped to the waist, revealing a skeletal body littered with scars.

Behind him, he heard Jeyne scream.

He could not help it himself. He recoiled at the sight, because for a moment, he found himself looking at a corpse reanimated. Theon’s eyes were not blue, though. Not the blue of living death. Hollow, yes, but living nonetheless, they pleaded wordlessly to him. A low noise rose in Theon’s throat, but he had been gagged.

“Hold on.” Angrily, Jon drew Long Claw.

Theon flinched back, though the chains did not give him much slack.

Jon held out his hand, reassuring. “We’ll get you down from there.”

He strode forward, and that was when he heard her voice. “Jon Snow.” He spun. And there she was, standing over a sconce and staring deeply into a red fire. The flames illuminated her face, and yet there was no smoke. No real warmth that Jon could feel, either. Though, he had not felt warmth in a long time. “I told you to come alone.”

“What is this?” Sansa demanded, stepping forward. Her knights moved in by her side, drawing their own weapons. She pointed angrily to Theon. “This man is under not only the protection of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, but also by me, Wardness of the Vale and North.”

“This will not stand,” Jon said. He nodded to Satin and Edd. “Get him down from there,” he ordered.

But as they moved forward, Melisandre threw out her hands. Both men stopped, as if she might strike them down with a flick of the wrist. “Jon Snow, you _are_ Azor Ahai reborn.”

Jon wished he had never heard the words “Azor Ahai.” He had not asked her to bring him back, had not asked to be a part of her prophecy. “Is Stannis Baratheon no longer your chosen one?” he said in disgust.

The slightest hint of a frown tugged the witch’s lips downwards. “Stannis Baratheon still has a role to play. But recently, the flames have been showing me something else.” She took a step forward, and his hand tightened his sword. “I see snow. A vast plain of white. And a man, wielding a flaming sword—Lightbringer!—against the armies of the dead. I see you, Jon Snow, taking up your mantle as the prince who was promised.”

At the altar, Theon groaned. His chest heaved, stretching ruined skin with every breath. He had been carved into, cut open and left raw open in a way Jon _felt_. He rubbed at his own chest, at the pain he could not reach to assuage.

“Let him go,” he said, turning to Melisandre. “I’ll be your Azor Ahai, if that’s what you require of me as payment for bringing me back. But Theon has no part in this.” He gestured to the others. “They have no part in it. It is between you and me.”

“No, Jon.” She came towards him. The knights tensed, but Jon held out his hand to stay them. “It is so much bigger than just you and me. And them.” She swept her hand across the room. “The coming battle is a war of Light and Darkness, and Light _must_ win.”

She bent and retrieved something from behind the sconce. A sword. At the sight of the blade, the knights pulled their own weapons. Edd reached for the knife in his boot.

But Melisandre did not wield to attack. Rather, she held it out, blade resting against the palms of her hands, as if offering it to a lord. In the red light of the fire, Jon recognized it. It was Stannis’s sword, or a near copy.

“This is the sword forged by Azor Ahai,” she said. “He tempered its blade with the blood of his own beloved wife. His sacrifice gave him the power to fight back the Darkness. Now, the Long Night comes again, and Lightbringer’s flames _must_ be rekindled.”

Jon’s skin prickled, and he cast a nervous glance towards Theon. Surely not…

“Plunge this blade into his chest!” she cried. “Give it the blood of your soulmate, as Azor Ahai gave it the blood of Nissa Nissa, and you will wield Lightbringer against the Darkness!”

“You’re insane,” Sansa said.

“You cannot be serious,” Jon agreed. “You expect me to strike down a man in my care while he is defenseless? What sort of coward do you take me for?”

The witch’s teeth flashed white in a grimace. “His death will bring hope to this world once again. It is an honor to die for the Lord of Light.”

Theon must not have thought so, because he began to scream around the gag in his mouth, something desperate but muffled.

Melisandre held the sword out again. “He is a sinner, Jon Snow. There is nothing to be gained from sparing him, but everything to lose.” She held Lightbringer out to him, hilt-first. “Think of the men you command. Think of your sister. You still have one soulmate left in this world. Use Lightbringer to protect them all.”

Jon stared at the hilt. Then at Theon.

He had seen what was coming for them, the things that hated life and warmth. He did not want to kill Theon, but he had lost so many already. Ygritte. Robb. The witch had brought him back. He did not know if her Lord of Light truly existed, but _she_ had brought him back. And she had seen what he had seen. She knew.

He had killed guilty men before. And Theon was guilty of a great many things.

“Fine,” he relented. Long Claw hissed as he slid it back into its sheath. “I will become the Azor Ahai you put so much faith into.” He reached for Lightbringer.

 

***

 

Theon was glad for the gag. Because when Jon wrapped his hand around the sword, he would have pleaded for his life. He didn’t want to die. After everything, he didn’t want to die.

But he should die.

He must die.

But…he did not want Jeyne to see. Why was she still here? She should have been ushered out of the room long ago; she should not have been allowed to come at all. His eyes caught sight of her, stepping forward, a look on her face that he had never seen before. Her mouth opened and his heart stopped.

“No, you can’t!”

 

***

 

She didn’t know what possessed her. And it surely must have been possession. She felt her feet move on their own, heard words come from her own throat that she had not meant to say. Saw her hand reach for the Lord Commander’s arm! She stopped herself short, arm frozen, reaching for him to stay his weapon. All eyes were on her. She could feel them, like Ramsay’s branding irons, piercing into her.

The instinct to cower back, to beg forgiveness or run and hide, was overwhelming. It choked her. But Theon…Theon was looking at her, and his eyes were not like branding irons. If she ran now, he would die.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said, he voice pathetic to her own ears. She could not bring herself to meet the Lord Commander’s eyes. Even though she had known him as a boy, had occasionally spoken ill of him as the bastard of Winterfell. Her face burned with shame, both what she had done back then and for what she was doing now. “Please…Jon. If you kill him…I will be all alone in this world.”

But what could he care about a silly little girl like her? Used up and broken. She was lucky he had not sent her back to Ramsay.

“Jeyne.”

She flinched at the sound of her own name from his lips.

“Jeyne,” he repeated, more softly, “I have no intention of hurting Theon.” He threw the sword to the ground. It clattered, and she flinched again as the noise rang off the closed-in walls and faded.

There was a stillness in the room following his words. Slowly, Jeyne lifted her head. The Lord Commander’s eyes were no longer branding irons. They had grown soft. She looked around the room, at Sansa’s knights and the brothers of the Night’s Watch. She saw uncertainty in their frozen stances; they no more knew what to do than she did. It…made her less frightened, somehow.

Theon’s high, muffled wail broke the silence. He strained against the chains—she saw blood trickling down his wrists.

The Red Woman’s voice trembled with the same confusion she saw on everyone’s face. “What are you doing?” Even Stannis’s all-knowing witch was confused. She bent to retrieve the sword. “You said you would become Azor Ahai.”

Jon kicked the sword away from her. It skittered across the floor, where Sansa was quick to grab it up, though she held it like its blade was poison, away from her.

“I said I would become the Azor Ahai you have so much faith in,” Jon said. “Yesterday your faith was in Stannis Baratheon. Today it is me. Perhaps tomorrow you will decide that it is actually Theon who is Azor Ahai and that my killing him has doomed this world.” He nodded towards the two men in black. “Cut him down from there.”

The witch stood to her full height. Jeyne shrank back, only to feel Sansa’s presence beside her, shielding her. “You are making a mistake, Jon Snow.”

“It would not be my first.”

She took and angry step towards him, and Sansa’s knights hurried to intervene, putting themselves between her and the Lord Commander. She sneered at them but backed down. “You are putting the fate of this world in danger with your ill-timed play at mercy.” She pointed towards Theon, who groaned as the two Night’s Watch brothers pulled his arms free from the chains. “You will never win the War for the Dawn if you cannot make sacrifices.”

“I’ve made plenty of sacrifices!” Jon snapped back at her, loud enough that Jeyne whimpered. She was comforted when Sansa grabbed her hand.

“Jon.” That was Theon, collapsed to his knees, limbs trembling. “Jon, listen to her. I…I deserve to die. If I can make up for what I’ve done…those who have died because of me…” He stared at the floor, baring his neck. Jeyne shivered. “Please.”

“No.” She broke free from Sansa and ran to his side. Fell to her knees beside him and pulled him in tight. He went rigid against her, but allowed her to bury her face in his shoulder, the way he had when they had fled…when they had flown. His bare skin was blazingly hot. “Don’t leave me.”

She sat there, feeling his heart beat against her cheek, the rise and fall of his chest.

Slowly, his hands came up and wrapped, gently, around her back. “I won’t.”

It was so quiet she might have imagined it. Certainly no one else in the room seemed to have heard.

“These two are under my protection,” she clearly heard Sansa say, “as Wardness of the Vale and the North. I will grant that perhaps you did not know of my standing orders, Lady Melisandre, so let us be clear. Forthwith, anyone who lays a hand on them will be punished to the full extent of my power.”

The witch did not respond.

Jeyne hugged tighter to Theon as she heard heavy boots approach. Then Jon’s voice, soft, “I am sorry you were delayed. We will get Theon something more appropriate to wear for your travels, and then we will send you off.”

“Thank you,” she said, and her voice felt raspy, like her throat was coated in sand. “I can’t lose him.”

 

***

 

Jeyne was already seated on her horse by the time Theon joined them in the courtyard, escorted by Jon’s steward. Perhaps he should not have been surprised to see both Jon and Sansa there, but he was. He was keenly aware of their eyes on him as he approached.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused,” he said, not daring to look anywhere but at his boots, already half-buried in the snow. “And for…everything.” His voice caught. “I am not…it might have been better if you had—”

“Stop,” Jon said sharply.

Theon flinched.

Jon drew in a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was calmer. “It’s been decided. If you truly feel remorse for the things you have done, then you can start by accepting my decisions as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. And my decision is that you will live.”

Theon nodded at the ground.

“Besides, it may well turn out that you truly are Azor Ahai reborn, and I will have to call you back to put a sword through _my_ chest.”

Theon jerked his head up to see Jon wearing an awkward smile. More a grimace, really.

“A bad joke,” he said, raising his hands apologetically.

“A terrible joke,” Theon agreed. Then, despite himself, he felt a mirthless grin pull at his own lips. “Robb loved terrible jokes.”

“Aye, he did.”

Jon placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip tight.

“I don’t regret sparing you,” he said, “and I don’t think I will ever come to. What I regret is…” He trailed off a moment in thought. “What I regret is before. The time I took for granted with you…and Robb.”

“I regret it as well,” Theon whispered.

“We shouldn’t have left him,” Jon said.

Silence passed between them.

Finally, Jon clapped his shoulder before withdrawing his hand. “Safe travels.”

Theon didn’t know what he could say in return—“Safe battles?”—and so he merely nodded.

Jon stepped aside and Sansa stepped in. She looked so refined in her gray furs, her red hair laid over her shoulder in a single braid. No longer the little girl pretending to be a princess, but a woman grown and the Queen in the North.

For a moment, he thought she meant to hug him. Her arms jerked. But then she folded them at her side, her face solemn. “We Northerners are survivors, Theon. Never forget that.”

“Am I a Northerner?”

She cocked her head. “Of course you are.”

He had been hoping and dreading to hear those words since he was a child.

“I’ll come back someday,” he said. Nodding his head towards the horses, “Jeyne and I. I will take good care of her, and we will return, when the Battle for the Dawn has been won and you are properly Lady of Winterfell.” He lowered his head. “If you will allow it.”

She quirked her lips. “You will be welcome, Theon Greyjoy.” She placed a gentle, gloved hand against his face. “We will need help rebuilding.”

With a tender smile, she pulled her hand back.

She started to turn, but he had something left to tell her. “Your soulmates are still alive.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a quizzical look on her face.

“Only Joffrey is dead. The others are still out there…alive.”

Her mouth fell open in a small o.

“I hope you will find them again.”

And then his escort was helping him up onto the horse behind Jeyne. Her felt her small frame against his, comforting, just like their wild ride from Stannis’s camp to the Wall. He would not have made it without her. He knew it for a fact.

Her small hands wrapped around his, guiding them around her waist. “Don’t let go,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the epilogue [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966191/chapters/37778072).


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